Little Myrtle Tree
by Aisukuri-Mu Studio
Summary: .:C:. AU. Billa didn't know she was about to fall violently in love, not when she first heard that the dwarf king Thorin was looking for a new partner. Her main priority was still to just go home and make second dinner for herself, forgetting the entire thing ever happened. She didn't realize all of Erebor would never be the same. fem!BilboxThorin.
1. Here's How it Begins

Billa Baggins of Bag End didn't think she was particularly pretty, and she didn't really mind. Flat-chested, round-faced, and with wavy, short auburn-hair, she actually looked rather masculine, which had suited her just fine as an adventurous child in her Took-blooded youth, and it still suited her just fine in her independent, self-sufficient Baggins-blooded adulthood. After all, she, herself, wasn't particularly romantic—but every Hobbit still was more so than any other creature, in some way, what with their sunshine-dances and flower-gardens—so she didn't depend on finding love one fateful day unlike her other female Hobbit peers.

She was content, and that was all she could ever ask for, she supposed. In a life where good things happened to bad people, and bad things happened to good people, (which, unfortunately, happened very often even in the Hobbit's Shire on the edge of Erebor, the dwarven kingdom) it was all she could expect.

However, when her faithful wizard friend Gandalf the Grey knocked upon Bag End's door with the startling news that the dwarf king Thorin Oakenshield was looking for a new Consort or Queen, she had no way of knowing how big her life was going to change.

Not until she found that when the king said _every _eligible young man and woman was to be gathered for choosing—that, unfortunately, included her.

* * *

Dwarves love only once.

Thorin Oakenshield had thought he was in love. Day-by-day, however, he began to discover that the dwarf woman he had thought he loved and in fact married was not the One.

It was only unfortunate it all ended over a sandwich.

_But it is done, _the king told himself, perched upon his throne after the divorce had been handled, and the news already was quickly spread throughout the kingdom that he was looking for his True Love. Although it was soon, abrupt, and so early on the eave of his previous disengagement, he had to agree with his advisors that he wasn't getting any younger. Might as well find the One now.

And as far as he saw it, Thorin was done with love. Part of him didn't really care if the One wasn't even within the borders of his expanse. He was fortunate enough to have four races under him—hobbits, dwarves, humans and orcs—although that last alliance was fragile—and he figured he had already a pretty good chance of finding the One within those ranks. But if the One wasn't there? Then what did it matter? He, Thorin Oakenshield, would remain unmoved either way.

Come what may, he thought. His kingdom was wealthy, his people were happy—and technically, there was an heir in his nephew Fili, so it wasn't as if there was pressure to find the One.

It would just have to be what it would be.

* * *

Billa wanted it to be anything but what it was.

Yet, as it was, she couldn't stop flushing, caught up in the multitude of every single eligible bachelor and bachelorette as they stood together, gathered in a line.

This was the preliminaries, they had been told. The very first round of selection. Without warning or time for preparation, they had been gathered and queued, put on display for their king just as they were. Those who he felt potential for were given a brief nod and allowed to make it to the second round. But those who were not were exempted, disqualified, and their opportunity to become next Queen or Consort ended there.

Billa Baggins, who believed herself not to be very pretty or very attractive and had very much liked it that way so far, had thought this would be the end of the road for her. She could go back to her humble home afterwards, forgetting the entire thing ever happened, that she had ever even been _considered _for companionship, and make second dinner for herself like normal.

So when King Thorin passed by her and nodded curtly in her direction, where others might feel joy or elation, relief—the young hobbit only felt sinking, grey dismay.

Her trial, it seemed, was not over yet.

* * *

When Billa returned home with her other bachelor/bachelorette hobbits, the news spread quickly of which ones had made it on to the next round, much to the elation of the entire community.

Out of the seventeen that had been assembled, only three of their Shire made it.

It was enough for a celebration—one that Billa did not feel so inclined as to participate in. So she went home alone that night, shut the door, made dinner, and then fell promptly asleep, clutching her pillow close as her stomach writhed and twisted with the unknown possibilities this new development potentially promised.

The next round, she discovered as she awoke the next morning, would begin that very evening.

A show, also parading themselves much like the event yesterday—except they were given time to prepare—and even, it seemed, commanded to.

_Dress in your best._

At the words, Billa finally felt a smile curve the sides of her mouth upwards. _Oh, _she thought happily. _This is for sure where I will be eliminated. I cannot possibly compare to the slender beauty of a human, or the gleaming muscles of orcs._ _Who am I but a little hobbit? _

And so, pleasant thoughts of being politely turned down or suddenly asked to leave the competition hummed through her brain, and Billa almost skipped away. In fact, she would have.

If several of her hobbit neighbors hadn't demanded that she let them dress her for her 'presentation.'

Mystified, Billa wasn't sure what to say. But she wouldn't be a very nice hobbit if she told them no—and besides, what chance did she have of winning, anyway?—so she shrugged and asked, "Why not?" and let them take her away for preening.

It took far longer than she thought it would.

Apparently, they had far too much fun putting flowers in her hair.

"You'll look so lovely for the king, my dear," one of them—Freya, from just up the road of Bag End—said, curling short auburn locks and pinning in purple asters and geraniums.

Another—Nona—pinned in white hepaticas, and smiled at their work as a third—Himie—rubbed floral lotion into Billa's hands and forearms. The hobbit herself, being primed and ready, tried not to move a muscle, but she couldn't help but think this was all for nothing. A waste of time—she was going to be turned down at this point in the proceedings, anyway.

So it was with a heavy heart that she muttered tonelessly, "…do you really think there's a chance he'll select _me_?"

Freya's hands stilled momentarily, before she continued her work slowly. Her heart, it seemed, was just as weighted down as Billa's. "We _have _to believe, Billa. You…could you imagine what it would mean for the Shire if the Queen or Consort turned out to be a hobbit? We'd finally…we'd finally have a _voice._ Someone to speak for us. It'd be the change we've all been waiting for."

Billa pressed her lips together, and now that Himie was done moisturizing her skin, clasped her hands in her lap as she considered this. It was true hobbits were, by nature, very peaceful creatures—far more so than humans, and even the elves which had, from time to time, entered combat.

Throughout all of their history, hobbits had never once had an army. They've never had to go to war.

This made them incredibly vulnerable—and they never realized it until it was too late. Until their kind's lands began to be taken over by other races' kingdoms, scattering them as a race and numbing down their culture. The very hobbit Shire Billa lived in was one of these; a once hobbit-run gentle homeland until the dwarves under the mountain—Erebor—stretched their borders to contain it.

And hobbits couldn't—and, quite frankly, didn't want to—fight back.

This, of course, left them completely at the mercy of their conquerors.

For the hobbits of the Shire under Erebor, they had been extremely fortunate with the dwarves. As long as they kept mostly to themselves, and didn't interfere with the dwarves' riches, wars, and business—then they were left alone as well.

But that was just that. As long as the _hobbits _didn't interfere, things were okay. Nothing protected them from other races interfering with _theirs._

Billa gave a tiny nod. "I…um, understand…but you know, you really shouldn't get your hopes up." She laughed nervously, lightly, trying to chase away the butterflies that fluttered around the concave of her stomach. "I'm just your average hobbit. There's nothing special about me."

"Ah, but that's just it. You're a _hobbit._" Himie winked, as if this were some great fact.

Billa could only stare in befuddlement. "Um…yes…? So?"

"We hobbits may be no bewitching elves," Freya continued, coming around the front to survey their work. She smiled brightly, apparently pleased with whatever she found. "But we're…_charming. _For sure. And who knows? Hobbits have the grandest of luck sometimes, you know."

Billa swallowed tightly in response, something deep within her not entirely content with that. She knew that if anything _did_ happen (miracle of miracles), she didn't want it to be because of _luck. _

She wanted it to be because of _love._

* * *

That night, they were gathered again and brought to the castle—all thirty-five or so of them that remained—although Billa Baggins never once let go of the hands of her two other companions the entire way.

The three hobbits stuck together, surrounded by their taller creatures, until the Great Hall, where they were shuffled into a line and separated for viewing.

Billa couldn't stop flushing, and she wished she weren't so nervous or so embarrassed about her attire. After all the primping Freya, Nona and Himie had done with her hair and skin, they ended up giving her a simple white dress—literally, so simple, it was almost boring—as the final touch. And really, she was relieved for it.

_The more boring I seem, the less of a chance I'll be chosen, _she repeated to herself, taking deep breaths.

When the king's shoes hit the stonework flooring with their intimidating _clomp, clomp, _she froze with momentary terror and watched as he began his surveying.

Her heart fell and leapt at the same time (_Why the silly dichotomy, Billa? _she chided herself) as she noticed that after the first ten people, only one person did he actually gesture forward in the accepting sign of, 'You I still will consider.'

Then he landed in front of her, steel eyes raking over her figure.

She couldn't stop the fire that scorched her face at his penetrating gaze—something in the back of her mind screamed, _Has he taken this long looking at all the others so far?_ _Or is this amount of staring time unusual?_—before she meekly bowed her chin to her collar in an attempt to avoid his eyes.

Then, he uttered such startling words, that she wanted the ground of Middle-Earth to swallow her and everything that existed above it to forget that a hobbit named Billa Baggins had ever existed.

"…odd. I had thought you were male."

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Well. 8D Here's an experiment, for sure. It's been forever since I read _The Hobbit, _and I have fallen in love with the movie, yet I had never had an inkling for writing fanfiction for it...until now. ;A; When I got this crazy AU idea, which is _largely largely _based on a classic Biblical story. (Get the sandwich reference?) However, I will be taking my own spins with it, so while remembering Esther, do take a pinch of salt. 8D And remember this is fanfiction.

So.

For those who are disappointed it's not BilboxThorin, rest assured that Bilbo has been made feminine for a very huge plot point (and...because I simply stink at writing slash couples ;A; ). So it'll work out. She's still our favorite hobbit (besides Frodo and Sam), and I tried to keep her even as physically close to Martin Freeman as possible (...because I love him), while being feminine at the same time. So hopefully...it works.

Thank you for reading! Tell me if you enjoyed (or if you hated-that, I suppose, works, too)!

And have a wonderful day!


	2. Here's How I Arrive

Too late, Billa remembered that she had worn breeches and a vest the previous day, which—more probably than not—was what had caused the gender confusion.

All the same, when those words tumbled out of the king's mouth, she felt her burning face flare—and without thinking—clearly, it had to be without thought; why else would she talk to royalty in such a way?—she lifted her head to indignantly correct, "Excuse me. I am a female, thank you very much. Just because I like to wear pants doesn't mean I'm not."

And then there was startled silence.

(Looking back on it, Billa Baggins admits that it probably took her a second too long to remember just _who _she was talking to.)

But once she did, again, the hobbit felt both the swelling horror and sudden desire for Middle-Earth to eat her whole. She stumbled back in a dazed terror—_Oh no, what have I done? Insubordination to the _king!—and hoarsely tried to remedy, "Oh…I…I mean…"

Well, clearly she had worn her welcome out.

_Time to leave before things get worse,_ she knew. So without another word, embarrassment flooding her face with hot, annoying red, she bowed her head away, fingers fisting themselves in the white folds of her dress. She turned to leave as quickly as possible, knowing in her gut this was it. She had ruined it, now; there was no hope for her people through her. Might as well go home and just sit this adventure out.

But then she felt a hand on her wrist, and an uttered, "Wait."

And when she turned, it was the king, whose steel eyes regarded her with such an emotion she couldn't quite place, but somehow instinctually knew involved curiosity.

It was a long, tense, silent moment as their eyes met—tentative, fearful blue with battle-worn, stormy grey—yet for all that time stretched, the world might not have existed. They wouldn't be able to tell; not in the strange distort of reality they suddenly found themselves in.

Until Thorin broke it by pulling Billa forward, back into line—and then past it to stand beyond them, apart in a clear message.

_You still will I consider._

Billa could scarcely believe.

* * *

One of five.

She was one of five.

Billa looked around at the other four the king had chosen, gathered as they were in a side-room for an important announcement after they had been selected. A tall male orc stood to one side of her, arms crossed over his chest; Billa couldn't help but feel incredibly intimidated by him, dressed as he was in his ceremonial battle gear—and she just in a plain white gown. The other three were also dwarves—two men and one woman—who conversed with themselves on the other side of her in their best, most artistic and colorful furred and beaded garments.

All in all, Billa felt terribly underdressed and extremely out-classed.

She clasped her hands together in front of herself, lowering her eyes as she suddenly felt meek and unassuming. She tried to breathe easy as they waited, continuously thinking, _Just keep to yourself. Don't mind them. One of a hobbit's greatest gifts is to remain unseen and underestimated. So just keep quiet._

Too late, though, the orc on her right turned to her suddenly and smirked. "Cute to see you try, little hobbit. But you have no chance, in the long run. You are not what he is looking for."

Billa flushed, but met his gaze anyway, cursing her Took-blooded recklessness while at the same time rising to the challenge to defend herself. "What do you mean?" she asked, voice smaller than it should have been for such a demanding question. "And who are you? How could you possibly know what he wants? As far as you know, I could have as good as a chance as you do to be Consort or Queen."

The orc wrinkled his nose in clear disagreement, although the amusement did not leave his hard eyes. "Disillusioned. My name is Bolg, and unlike you, I am familiar with the royal dwarven customs concerning their queens. You, however, wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

No. Actually, she wouldn't. Billa pressed her lips together in a blank gaze.

Bolg smirked again. "A hint, then; for good luck: queens are not permitted to enter upon the king's chambers without being summoned."

Billa frowned, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "Um. Wait, what does—"

"—If you should entreat upon him without his prior request for your presence, it could cost you your life."

Billa's eyes widened, her breath leaving her. "What? Why? Do I—are queens just—"

The orc shrugged. Glee shone in his dark eyes as he glanced away almost disinterestedly. "I am not sure, since I, myself, am not a dwarf. But the meaning is clear: queens are not considered equals to their king." At Billa's growing lost, pained expression, he continued, eyes snapping to hers. "And that is not what he is looking for, I am certain. There are three males here, and only two females. Surely this is a sign—if nothing else—that what he is looking for is a _partner_, not a _pet_."

That grabbed her attention. Knowing it was probably true, but her Took blood not allowing herself to go completely down without a fight, Billa muttered to him, however weakly, "I assure you, should he choose me, I will not be his _pet._" _I will be his _lover.

Bolg's mouth twitched upward at the side once again. "On that, you may not have a say, little hobbit."

* * *

"_Congratulations on catching the king's eye. My name is Balin, and personally, I wish each of you the best of luck. However, I also have very heavy information to bestow upon you."_

Billa packed in a daze, hardly seeing what was passing through her hands and into her trunk. She was lucky Freya was with her, making sure she had the essentials, as well as everything else she would need in order to survive one month away from home. Else, she would have been missing something; perhaps even something as embarrassing as undergarments.

"_Because you are the final five, you will no longer be residing within your individual homes. Instead, for the duration of the next month's 'competition'—if you wish to call it that—you will be staying here, within the castle."_

"Billa, are you all right?"

Detachedly, she nodded.

After a long pause, however, she then shook her head.

"Oh, dear," Freya murmured soothingly, and without another word, pulled the younger hobbit into her comforting arms.

"_The next four weeks will be trying. There will be various events, tournaments, all for you five to compete for the king's affection. One week after another, one of you will be eliminated until there remains just one—the one King Thorin will have chosen."_

"What if I don't love him?" Billa couldn't help but whisper into her friend's shoulder, clutching tight to the one who had helped her get into this situation in the first place. _Curse those hepaticas and geraniums and asters. Curse that dress. Curse everything. _"Oh, Freya, what if I have to marry someone whom I don't love…? Or what if he's…oh, I—I don't know anything _about _him…"

Freya shushed her, rubbing a hand up and down the auburn-haired hobbit's back. "Well, that's what the month is for, right? You'll be living under the same roof for four weeks. Surely that's enough time to fall in love with him…?"

Billa sighed delicately, lifting her head. Everything still felt so muffled, so far away—as if it were happening to some other unfortunate hobbit and not to her. "I…I don't know…"

"_Tonight, we will send you home to gather your things. It is tomorrow morning that we will expect you to arrive at the castle, where the competition will commence with dinner later that evening. Work on your etiquette, practice your table manners—but whatever you do, be prepared for a grueling month."_

When the hobbit went to bed that night, it came as no surprise to her that she couldn't sleep. She laid there, listless and worried, stomach churning at all the scenarios she hoped never happened.

"_That is all."_

* * *

King Thorin was used to his good comrade Balin acting the role of advisor. It came with the territory of having known for him nearly his entire life. So when the older dwarf approached him just as he had been making his way to his bedchamber, he was unsurprised.

Even less surprised was he by the actual question the other dwarf asked him.

"The hobbit, my king?" Balin's voice was delightfully curious as he matched the younger's brisk pace down the polished hallway. Thorin restrained a smile at the familiar tone; not condescending, not skeptical or doubtful. Merely interested. Kind. As always. "I understood your other selections quite well—I have known you for many and many a year—fought wars for your father, even. But never had I thought I'd ever see the day when an Oakenshield would entertain the idea of a _hobbit _companion."

"Curious, isn't it?" the king muttered, shaking his head with a rueful smile curling his lips. "Even I am not sure, my friend, why I have chosen to keep her with them. Perhaps part of it is a rough apology." After all, he _had _made quite the blunder earlier that day concerning her.

Balin scoffed at the idea. "_That _I know is not the truth. If you were sorry, you would have let her go. Not forced her to stay here with you for an entire other month."

Thorin shrugged. "If she is not to be, then she is not to be. As it is, I couldn't help but…give her a chance. If anything, her words and instinctive courage were surprising. It provides a startling contrast after all of her incessant blushing and shying."

"Such words, however, are not allowed of a queen. Not out of turn."

Something in Thorin's expression hardened—the results of years of conditioned thinking and traditions, as well as warring, rising new interests. "Right…well, we'll see."

Balin nodded in agreement. "We will see."

* * *

When morning came, Billa didn't want to move. At all. And actually, she would have been quite happy to just stay in bed, ignoring the summons placed upon her, and pretending like the king wasn't fancying her as a potential mate all day. She would have liked to just shut out the world and be Billa Baggins who lived at Bag End in the Shire and was really, actually, a nobody to the general population once again.

_Instead of possibly going to be a queen._

Oh gosh.

Stuffing her face into her pillow, Billa breathed deeply and slowly. In, then out. In, then out, repeating to herself over and over again, _It's just for a month. I won't even last a week. It's just for a month. After a week, I'll be home again, and nobody will ever know who I might have been._

Knock. Knock.

"Billa…?"

Billa took a breath and lifted her face from the pillow, glancing at the doorway to her bedroom, where Himie stood, smiling tentatively. The other young hobbit continued, hand drifting up to idly finger her dark brunette hair curling over her shoulder. "Freya and everyone else is waiting for you. Outside."

That brought a frown to the suitor's face. She slowly sat up, puzzled. "Everyone else…?"

Himie smiled brilliantly back. "Grab your trunk, and I'll show you what I mean."

Everyone else, apparently, meant all the other hobbits of the Shire, gathered together at the front steps of Bag End, with banners and gifts of good luck for their single champion.

Billa had never been more overwhelmed, felt more appreciated, or had so much pressure and so many expectations placed upon her small pair of shoulders before. She was very close to throwing up. Or hyperventilating. Or passing out. Any of which sounded likely as she tremulously stepped forward and down the parted path of her fellow hobbits, lugging her heavy trunk behind her.

Hand after hand reached out to shake hers, wishing her the best of luck, making her assure them that she would do everything she could in order to insure her people a voice in politics. Or, as it was for some amusing families that made her unexpectedly laugh, simply promising them to at least write letters, confessing if the dwarven palace food was really as good (or horrible) as it had been rumored to be. To these, at least, she definitely nodded.

But it was almost too much. Even though they all expected one thing of her—to put her duty to her people above her own desires and consequently snag the title of queenship for the good it could do for them—it was this affection and absolute devotion, loyalty to her, their fellow hobbit, that reminded Billa why she loved being one.

"Affection and love don't come to other races as easily as it does to hobbits, some rumor."

Jolted out of her thoughts at the end of the procession, Billa blinked, startled, and turned around to see Gandalf the Grey, gazing down at her with fond amusement and pride.

His lilting, ever-wise voice continued. "Humans come close, but even small disagreements tear them apart. What I like about your people, Miss Baggins, is that hobbits are delightfully optimistic creatures. They tend to think the best of others, even when under great duress."

Billa swallowed tightly, suddenly so very appreciative of her friend. "What do you think will happen, Gandalf? Should I…should I even dare to get my hopes up?"

"That, I cannot say," the wizard responded, nodding carefully to himself. "But I would advise you, if I may say…to leave no regrets. When everything is said and done, no matter the outcomes, the results, when you look back upon this time in your life, make sure you can remember it with fondness. Never disdain. Use this to make happy memories, Miss Baggins. It is an adventure. So treat it as one."

Billa nodded, heart lifting and easing back into its natural rhythm in her chest with the words as she gave her old friend a half-smile. "I…I will try. Thank you, Gandalf."

The wizard in grey smiled. "You are quite welcome, Miss Baggins."

Suddenly wary and so very afraid of being alone, the hobbit swallowed and shifted in her place on the grass of the Shire, at the front of her wonderful friends and neighbors—a place she would not be for a good long while. "Will you…will you accompany me to the palace, Gandalf? I…well, I don't want to be…_alone._"

The old wizard nodded, his smile brightening as if he had been waiting for her to request his company for a very long time.

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Baggins."

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Waaaaaaah! ;A; People _like _this. That...that fills me with such joy! I've come to really, really enjoy writing this; fulfilling my inner-girly-girl who's a sucker for romances. So...just to see that people are enjoying it as much as I am fills me with inexplicable, bubbling happiness! You guys have me smiling stupidly! Darn you all! (But I love you so much!)

Also, there's a reason it's Bolg whose her other competitor and not Azog. 8D Because, remember, this is based on the story of _Esther,_ so that means our lovely orc from the movie will be playing an entirely different role that will appear later, but still be incredibly important.

Also also, I looked up the future image of Bolg that will apparently appear in the later _Hobbit _movies...but honestly, he looks so different from Azog, that I have a tough time imagining him looking like that. ;A; So I'm keeping his appearance here very vague. Imagine him as you will. 8D

I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Thanks so much for reading! And I honestly adore you all who have favorited, reviewed, and followed! You're all such beautiful people! ;A; Believe it!


	3. Here's How We Meet

Dinner was an…_interesting_ affair, to say the least.

Billa had thought it would just be the chosen five, perhaps that other dwarf Balin, and the king eating together, making polite conversation, and generally getting to know each other civilly like the grown-ups they all clearly were, despite their varying ages.

She hadn't expected ten other dwarves there as well, nearly boisterous in their volume and activity at the table, who were very obviously anything _but _civil.

Billa Baggins remained at the doorway for a good few moments, watching as Bolg and the other three dwarves who were already there, stare in varying measures of shock, maintained fury, calm impatience, or blatant embarrassment and annoyance. She, herself, on the other hand, couldn't refuse the smile that spread on her face at the happy, singing and clamoring dwarves. The king and Balin were mysteriously absent, but as of yet, if these ten dwarves were to be joining them at the table, Billa found she might actually be looking forward to it.

It was the dwarf woman—Yoris, as Billa had learned her name to be—who finally made the interruption, her voice stark and shrill against the hard marble-stone walls and floor. "Who _are _you disrespectful lot, and how _dare _you pretend as if the king's table is your own kitchen at home?"

All commotion ceased at the outburst, and Billa found her own happiness waning with the pause, smile slipping in the quiet.

Then, unexpected treat of treats, Thorin's voice rang out, low and threatening, and Billa found herself quite afraid for her rival, pitying her for the unexpected hole she had dug for herself. (Yet how could she have known?)

"They are my _friends, _Yoris. A few of them are even family. I believe you should rethink your words before you speak them again when you raise your voice against my loved ones." As he spoke, the dwarf king walked methodically into the room, eyes hard and sword-sharp on the quickly-paling dwarf woman's face.

Yoris' mouth scrambled for purchase, curtsying forgetfully as she fumbled, "Oh. I…forgive me, my king. I…I had not known—"

"—hn." Thorin grunted, short and clipped, signaling the end of the discussion. "Now you do."

Yoris shifted, readjusting her composure, but clearly unhappy with the proceedings. Her fists, clenched at her sides, turned red with tension that the king ignored as he strode forward and began greeting the ten other dwarves fondly—Balin right on his heels and greeting them with similar exuberance.

Billa felt her heart soften at the scene. _Ah! He has friends…quite noisy, eccentric friends, but _good _friends, all the same. _But the best part was, she could see through their eyes and their rough hugs and forearm-shakes that these dwarves clearly loved their leader back. There was a unique companionship among them, she noted—and suddenly, she knew without question that any one of those dwarves at that table would die for their king—not because he _was _a king, but because he was their _friend, _too(or, their "uncle," as she heard two of them call him).

And Thorin, it appeared, would do the same in return.

Feeling unexpectedly happy and content at her discovery, Billa folded her hands in front of her and let her smile shine almost subconsciously. _You know, I wasn't aware if dwarves were capable of such feelings as admiration and tenderness…but now that I know they are, perhaps this won't be so bad after all._

"Miss Baggins!"

Billa jumped, startled and snapped her head up to the table. One of the king's friends—or his nephew, maybe—the one with the funny-eared hat and friendly face—smiled at her expectantly and welcomingly.

Too late, it was then she noticed she was the last one still standing. Everyone else had already sat down.

Her face flushed as the dwarf continued, "You going to join us, or just stand there looking like a servant? We haven't got all day, y'know."

"I—" Laughter bubbled from the table, and her face burned hotter, but she forced her hobbit feet to move forward anyway, bowing her head as she cleared her throat. "—yes. I'm coming; sorry. Terribly sorry to delay." And without another word, she took the last empty chair that remained—ironically, the one across from the dwarf who had called out to her. It was also situated between two other large dwarves; one with long sandy-blonde hair and the other, thin, pitch-black ebony-night locks. Both of them peered down at her curiously as soon as she was seated.

It was the blonde who reached out first, tugging lightly on the shoulder of her deep-red dress tentatively and quietly noting, "Huh. I thought you said you like to wear breeches," striking up conversation with her like many others were doing with each other all around the table while they waited on their dinner.

But Billa could only flush, a sharp awareness coming over her. _Oh goodness. Interrogation questions—already?_ Before they even got their food? Billa swallowed nervously, trying not to squirm under both his gaze and the dwarf on the other side of her's. "I—I do. However, I hadn't thought pants were…_respectable_…for a dinner with a king."

The black-haired one quickly spoke up next. "Oh. But _we're _wearing pants."

"Yes, but…y-you're _males_." What was this? Billa was faintly annoyed, but at the same time, scared out of her wits. These were dwarves who knew the king _personally. _She wasn't an idiot. She knew why they were here; so now the question was, did she try to pass their test? Or did she try and make them send her home? "I'm a _female."_

"Should there be a difference?"

"Well, I don't see why there shouldn't. There doesn't _have _to be, but…" Billa had a hard time looking at both of them simultaneously. "I, myself, am proud to be a female—and although I don't mind wearing breeches on a casual day—to a formal function such as this, I don't mind and may, in fact, prefer to wear a dress or a skirt in a…_celebration _of my sex," Billa answered as best she could, growing increasingly distressed and very aware that she just might be rambling in defense against the difficult questions.

The two on each side of her grinned in dangerous—but clear, blatant—amusement.

"Huh. You're cute," the blonde one said, reaching and tugging on a strand of her hair.

Billa winced, blushed and glared weakly at him.

The black-haired one picked up the playful tone from the other—and Billa instinctively knew that these two must have been incredibly close friends or brothers; there was no other way they could be so unified in thought, intent and action—tugging on another strand of her rusty-red hair, too, as he said, "Hey, Fili, maybe once this is over, we could talk to Uncle Thorin—see if he'll let us keep her as a pet—that is, if she doesn't win, of course."

The one named Fili grinned broader at the idea. "Oh, I think that's a great idea, Kili."

Billa squawked and squirmed away from his hand which had poked her shoulder. "Pet?" she repeated, astonished. "I'm _not _a—y-you—you can't—you can't keep me as a _pet_!"

"Why not?"

Billa spluttered, but immediately gathered herself. "I—you can't just—I am not some _dog _or some lesser creature to you! I am a sentient being! A pure and perfectly respectable hobbit! I have the same amount of intelligence and level of comprehending as you do, or any other dwarf does! To label me and force me into some sort of inferior position to you when we are clearly equals is not only morally wrong—it's completely and logically unfounded—blatantly incorrect!"

Silence for a split-second.

Then, both dwarves on either side of her immediately hummed high and low in interest—and at their tone, Billa couldn't help but feel her chest, previously coiled tight with anxiety from the unexpected interrogation, slowly start to ease with pride. _I did it…?_

"A sharp little hobbit—" Kili praised.

"—clever, clever—" Fili spoke.

"—you obviously have a good head on your shoulders—"

"—you do, you do; so then, _since _you do—"

"—do tell me, Miss Baggins." Fili leaned forward, grinning unashamedly in anticipation now as he asked her the next question. "Smart as you are, surely you _must _know some good riddles?"

Billa couldn't believe the question. Did she know some riddles? Oh-ho-ho, _did_ she! Feeling as if these two had quite unknowingly opened a can of worms, (_They don't know what they've gotten themselves into…_), she allowed herself to smile brightly, blue eyes twinkling with meek delight. "Well, actually…I might know a _few…_"

(Understatement of the century, she knew; but it didn't hurt to be modest.)

* * *

Dinner was done. The plates had been cleared. All five contestants had been sent to their respective quarters, so all that remained in the sharply-quiet dining hall were the king and his eleven dwarf friends, gathered around the table and looking far more serious than they had an hour before.

"Nori," Thorin finally spoke, relaxing back in his chair at the head of the table. "Begin."

The brown-headed one nodded, leaning forward. "Ori, Dori and I spoke with the one called Ithur. Charming dwarf; friendly. Got on with Ori incredibly well."

The youngest at the table nodded quickly in agreement. "Yes! He's very nice, Thorin."

"Good," Thorin's eyes were calculating as he listened. "Personality is good, but can only carry one so far. What about battle? I have heard his name before…"

"He fought in the battle against those rogue elves two summers ago. The reason he sounds familiar is because he was the one who lead the group that the elves had separated from the rest of the army. Ithur took charge and single-handedly plowed them through the elf lines in order to rejoin with the main battalion. Brave dwarf, indeed," Dori spoke lowly, but with a rumble of admiration.

Thorin nodded, impressed, despite trying not to be. This Ithur definitely promised good leadership qualities; excellent. Such characteristics were rare, and could not always be taught. Sometimes, it just had to be learned; but to have a partner that had already learned it…?

_Definitely will keep him for another week. _Nodding to himself once more, Thorin turned to the next group. "Oin and Gloin?"

"Spoke with the one named Derrin, sir," Gloin muttered, before shrugging. "Not a very expressive fellow."

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Oin spoke up, something discontent crossing his features. "Keeps to himself. Didn't speak unless spoken to, and answered in short sentences or single-words. Not the best communicator, Thorin. It's hard to read him."

Thorin hummed, reaching up with a hand to scratch at his chin. "Sounds like he could keep a secret incredibly well."

"Yeah," Gloin grumbled. "A secret from _you._" At the startled silence, the red-brown haired dwarf continued, shifting,_ "_Dunno if you can trust him; again, he's hard to read. I'm not sure where his loyalties lie, so I'm not sure if he's the wisest choice, Thorin."

The king nodded in understanding, before Bofur, laughingly, spoke up, "Oh, you haven't met _Yoris _then, yet. Bombur, Bifur and I had the pleasure of talking with _that _woman."

Thorin's eyebrow shot up again. "Go on."

"That woman has a _voice_," Bofur laughed. "Such a stubborn opinion! A delightfully amusing dwarf, let me tell you—but not a fit for a partner at all. She's rather bull-headed, more so than even you, sire, which is surprising—I know. But she's got to be right, and got to be in control, and will swing hammers until people see things her way."

Bombur sniffed, pudgy finger pressing at the stone table before him in dismay. "…she's not very nice."

"But not afraid to fight, apparently, for what she believes in," Thorin muttered carefully. "That's a positive, if nothing else is."

Bofur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, fight for what she believes in—even if what she believes in is wrong. She'd lead your country to war with someone who sneezed when she told them not to, Thorin. I don't think she's your best bet."

Thorin nodded, before turning to Kili and Fili. "And you two? You spoke with the hobbit, yes?"

Both of his nephews lit up at the mention, grinning broadly.

"Billa, yes! Oh, is she a treat, Thorin!" Fili spoke first, warmly and brightly. "Dainty little thing, terribly weak and fearful—almost looks like the wind will blow her over—"

"—but she's _smart,_" Kili added.

"Oh, so smart—"

"—she may not be able to lift a sword, but she will _definitely_ keep you on your toes!"

"Oh, her mind is as quick as a whip!" Fili snickered. "Where she lacks in brawn, she does not lack in brain."

Kili nodded, grinning like he and his brother shared a deep, mischievous secret. "I would not underestimate her, dear Uncle. Sure, you might want to be careful with her; she's a fragile thing. But she's good for you, I think. Incredibly intuitive. Will keep you sharp."

Thorin hummed quietly, tapping his fingertips together. His gaze, in fact, humbly rested on his hands and not his gathered friends as he muttered, "While that is all well and good…it is the question of if she is good for the _kingdom_, that I wonder." Sighing, Thorin pressed his steepled fingers against his mouth as he asked, "Could our people really look to a _hobbit _for leadership? They are not the models of strength and courage…iron-will and fortitude that us dwarves have founded ourselves on."

Balin, to his right, shook his head. "You bring up an excellent point, your highness. I'm not sure if a hobbit is what this kingdom needs."

Thorin sighed, hands falling back down to the arms of his chair as something softly panged inside him at that thought. "No, I think not…" Frowning, but quickly shaking off that depressing thought, he shifted and sat up straighter, turning to his old friend as he asked, "But you—you two talked to the orc, Balin and Dwalin. An orc could do well for Erebor, yes?"

Balin grinned. "Quite. Oh, Bolg is _extraordinary_, sire. I have never met anyone like him. His courage and strength knows no bounds—yet he is wise, it seems. He has a good discernment principle."

Dwalin nodded and picked up where his cousin had left off. "Very," he grunted. "I would trust him in a battle, Thorin. He knows his swords and blades admirably, as well as the best tactics for war—perhaps his orc-ish methods are a bit ruthless, but they get the job done quickly and effectively. No one would question his authority."

"He would stand beside you well, Thorin," Balin added quietly. "An unmovable support."

Thorin nodded, leaning back again as he took in the information his comrades had given him carefully. After a long, long pause, he finally inhaled deeply, fingers tapping an unknown rhythm on the arms of his chair. "An orc would be much better for the kingdom than a hobbit, wouldn't it?"

"The kingdom doesn't need a hobbit," Balin agreed. "If anything, a dwarf or an orc would be infinitely better—but a hobbit can do nothing for us; only be a sign of that extra baggage we have to protect."

He was right, Thorin knew. Balin was usually right.

Still, that didn't change the disappointment that whined in the back of his head—disappointment that surprised him, for he wasn't aware he had been looking forward to getting to know that little, trembling spitfire of a hobbit.

_But ah well, _Thorin sighed. _It is what it is. Let the week happen as it happens, and if she leaves, she leaves._

Yet everything would not happen how Thorin—or any other dwarf, for that matter—expected.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **So...I'm sneaking on. 8D Kinda. To post this. It's like, midnight, I know, and I said I wouldn't be on for a week...which, kinda is true, but I had finished this chapter, and ran it by the ever-wonderful Elsa, who approved it for publishing, and I thought, "Why not?"

So indeed, why not?

I know it's a bit anti-climactic, but I thought it necessary, before anything begins, to get to know each contestant. We already know our lovely Billa, but what about her competitors?

Next chapter will be the rest of the first week! Thanks very, very much for reading so far!

To all you who have favorited, reviewed, or followed: you're all AWESOME! You're SO COOL! I just have no words! My appreciation for your kind encouragements and loyalty just...knows no bounds. ;A; You don't know how much I adore you all.

So I hope you enjoyed! See you next week!


	4. Here's How I Falter

"_Good morning, competitors. You are here together to be informed of your first trial which will occur at the end of this week."_

Billa paced in her quarters, fretting and thinking as she waited and thought.

"_It has been decided to be combat. All five of you will enter the arena at the hilt of the Erebor castle, and engage in battle with each other—but not to the death. Us dwarves like our share of warfare, but we do not wish an early grave upon the king's suitors. No—instead, elimination will be based upon a single wound. As soon as blood is spilt, the victim is disqualified and no further harm will befall the competitor. If there is, the attacker himself or herself shall leave for home immediately."_

Recalling Balin's words, Billa felt vomit surge up her throat. Gagging, she clutched at her stomach, pressing her other hand, fisted, into her mouth to quell the queasy urge. Her nerves felt so seasick, so swaying and unstable—so tossed and turned over the simple fact that there was a very good chance she would get hurt this week.

And _actually_ hurt. Not like a simple bruise from falling down, or grass burns from being a bit too rough in the countryside of the Shire—no, she could actually receive a real sword-born _graze._

And hobbit's skins weren't tough; they weren't thick made and ready for that kind of reception like dwarves or orcs.

"_The winner of the challenge—the last competitor remaining—will win an exclusive one-on-one dinner that evening with the king." _

Billa finally found her bed and sat down on it heavily, pressing her face into her hands. Although it was irrational, part of her—her hobbit instincts, she supposed—was shaking with fear. _I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die_. Her other part—no doubt that Took blood—was shouting, _Stupid. They won't let anything happen to you. So you'll get a paper cut. What's the big deal? Show 'em what a hobbit's made of!_

Problem was, she didn't know what a hobbit was made of. She didn't know how to fight. At all. Hobbits have never had to fight. Or wanted to.

Billa still didn't want to.

"_Speaking of dinner, the large dinner that you experienced last night will continue to occur every night, with the same members, but different placements, so you will be conversing with different dwarves—and then, on certain evenings—with the king."_

Billa let herself fall back onto the bed, arms sprawled out as she stared at the ceiling in dismay.

_Oh, what have I gotten myself into…?_

"_Also, until the day of the competition, you are invited—and, in fact, encouraged—to utilize the training chambers nearby the barracks for practice and preparation. Today, your dressing attendants—handmaidens and designers—as well as trainers for the event later this week—will arrive in your chambers in just a few hours. Your attendants will remain with you throughout your stay here at the palace; their job is to make sure that you are dressed to fine royal standard every time you are sighted—exactly how it will be if you become Consort or Queen. Your trainer will only remain for this week, and will leave after it is over—or, if you feel you are prepared, you can request that your trainer leave you at any time."_

Faintly, Billa heard a heated bicker coming from the other side of the doorway to her room; however, she didn't really take notice of it. Not until it escalated to a surprising pitch that caught her attention.

Cautiously, she sat up.

"_We will review the event instructions before the actual fight. For now, that is all. Good luck to each of you."_

Then, abruptly, it stopped, with the soft pitter-patter of footsteps that walked tremulously away from her door. Billa frowned, and inched to slide off the bed when suddenly, from behind the wood, a very robust feminine voice barked, "Oi! Halfling! Open this door right this instant! Not very nice and hospitable to keep your attendant waiting, is it?"

Wait, what? Her attendant?

Hurrying to the door, Billa couldn't help but think, _I thought she'd be nicer…?_, before she opened it and quickly apologized, "Sorry—sorry—I hadn't known you were there—"

The female dwarf behind it scoffed, long dark hair wavy and jolting with the movement as she shoved inside Billa's room. "Yeah, well, just goes to show how observant you are. What if I was an enemy? What then, Halfling? You wouldn't have known I was lurking at your door; I could have killed you in a moment's spite, and you wouldn't have even seen me coming."

Well, that was true. Clearing her throat oddly, Billa closed her door and faced her new attendant with something between fear and awe. "Yes, I…I do suppose that is what would have happened."

The she-dwarf glared hard at her, steel eyes raking over the hobbit's shorter figure in something close to contempt. Reluctantly, the eyes rejoined the hobbit's nervous blues as she sneered, "So…what, then? No defense? No claim that you're better than my first impression of you?"

"Ah…yes, well…" Billa cleared her throat again, wondering why it was suddenly so dry, as she waved a hand dismissively and half-heartedly. "There was no need because you were actually…very right. I'd be completely useless in such a situation." She nervously chuckled.

The dwarf sneered again, large lip curling upward. "Weak. Can't believe he's considering a _hobbit._" Shrugging, the woman then stalked forward to the bed, calling, "The name's Dis. As it so happens, something unfortunate has happened to your previously-assigned attendants and trainer—so yes, guess where that leaves us? With _me_, playing the unique role of both for you. Hooray, hooray."

With that disparaging announcement, the dwarf plopped herself down on Billa's bed, arms spread out like the room was hers—and not actually the very small hobbit's.

The hobbit in question didn't seem to mind. Or at least, she seemed too pre-occupied with something else to care. A bit dazed, she gazed back at the door, pieces of a mental puzzle craftily slipping together as she did so. Then, the riddle complete, curiously and detachedly, she nodded as she slowly returned her eyes to that of her new aid and mentor. "Ah. I see…"

"_Yes_, well…I think we'll get started on training, shall we? That's gonna be your biggest problem, after all. Halflings don't know how to fight, from what I know." With a dangerous grin, Dis sat back up, recklessly gazing at her charge in such a way that left Billa a little frightened. "But don't worry. I'll teach you all I know; soon, you'll be such a master in that arena, the others will just drop their swords in fear of your talents."

Billa swallowed, fighting back the doubt that plagued the back of her mind. Maybe Dis meant it? "Really?"

That grin was too blindingly intimidating to tell. "Really."

* * *

_Shing._

_Clank. Clank. Shiver._

"Are…are you sure I'm supposed to wield it like this?"

"Are you seriously questioning me? Who's the master swordswoman here?"

_Wobble. Wobble. Shing. Clank._

"I just—it doesn't feel right—"

"—then you're probably doing it wrong. Remember, you hold the hilt with only the tips of your fingers. Your palm can't touch the leather at all."

"But, then it's so heavy—"

"—then it's not _my _fault you're such a weak hobbit, is it?"

_Shing._

_Clank. Clank. Shiver._

"Dis—"

"—shut up and trust me, Halfling. The more you stop asking questions the quicker you'll learn. Now, remember, you never point the blade up. Always towards the ground."

"But—"

"—just obey me, Halfling! As queen, you never question the king. If I were Thorin and you were who I had chosen, I could have you killed on the spot for such infuriating insubordination. Would you speak to your husband—the _king—_in this manner?"

"N-no—"

"—then _shut up _and _obey._"

_Clank._

_Shiver._

_Shimmer._

_Wobble._

_Clank._

* * *

Later that afternoon, when it came time to get ready for dinner, Billa, sweaty and tired, entered her room a split-second before Dis did, who promptly shoved the poor hobbit to the side and plopped herself down on Billa's bed again, spread-eagled and authoritative.

Billa bit her lip and meekly shut her door before turning to her bed and the dwarf resting upon it. "Um…"

No response.

Billa swallowed and spoke louder. "So…um, how do we go about this?"

The hobbit waited an anxious moment before Dis' flat voice finally answered, "'We'?"

Her tone, slow and dangerous, had Billa fretting. "W-well," she began, hands fidgeting with themselves as her eyes darted. "I—well, you see, you're my—um—attendant—and—I had thought—"

"—thought I'd dress you? Take care of you? _Please._" Dis' voice was lazy and disinterested, drifting through the air as she spoke lowly and without a care, "That's not what an attendant does, Halfling. At least, not _this _attendant. If you want to look nice, you can do it yourself. You're a big girl, now. Don't need me to wash you up and dress you—right?"

Pain. Was this really the way it was supposed to go?

Yet in one large, momentous effort, Billa swallowed all of her doubts and fears. The little, nagging voices that cried, _But you know what he likes better than I do; you know how I should dress to impress a dwarf. You know what catches their eye. You know what royalty looks like, you know, you know, and I don't— _

But Billa let it go. Let it go in all in one long exhale, nodding as strongly as she could—which was far more than she actually felt.

"Right…right, of course."

Dis' response undeniably had a smug grin in it. "Good. And don't forget to wash your feet in another fragrance-bath after your body-bath. I mean, in case you weren't aware of this about your people—you Halflings don't wear shoes. So guess what? Your feet _stink. _I'd make sure you let them soak in scented water for a good half-hour after you bathe. Just informing you."

Her feet stunk?

Billa swallowed, glancing down at her hairy hobbit feet, and suddenly felt so very ashamed of them. Her toes curled inward subconsciously as she nodded, "Um…right…right, of course. I will…do that."

"Good. Hop to it, then."

Billa tried. As it was, she didn't feel much to hopping.

But she did get the job done. As best she could.

* * *

Dinner was another affair that night of a different matter than Billa had thought it would be.

Disheartened, she stared at the plate of food in front of her, poking at the majority of it with a fork as she tried to measure out the portion she should eat of it—as advised to her by Dis.

Apparently, it was very unseemly for a queen to gorge so much on food as a hobbit normally did at first dinner. "It's terribly disgusting and repulsive," her dwarf 'attendant' had muttered. "Dwarves love their food—oh, yes—but they eat in small increments—and can even handle to eat only one meal a day. To them, it's odd and rude to eat more than a plateful at dinner. So watch yourself, Halfling. I know it's difficult for you, but eat as little as you can."

That was an understatement, Billa couldn't help but think. Only a plate? Only so little? That was an _incredible _challenge. The meager portion she was poking at was hardly enough to fill her up for one sitting. At _least, _she'd have another biscuit with it.

_But…if that's really the way things are…_

"Hey, Miss Baggins. Are you feeling all right?"

Blinking, Billa looked up to the kind face of the dwarf at her right—Ori, she learned his name to be earlier—one of the youngest dwarves at the table—and by far, the most innocent and optimistic. She tried to smile as reassuringly as she could, masking the unrest inside. Or whatever it was that hurt and tied her chest into knots that she devoutly did not like. She wasn't sure if it worked. "Yes. Sorry. I suppose I'm…not that hungry."

"A hobbit? Not that hungry?" Ori scrunched up his nose and laughed. "You're pulling my leg! Aren't hobbits always hungry?"

Oh.

Were they?

Billa supposed they _did _eat more than a lot of other races. But she didn't really know what to make of it; she hadn't thought about it too much before. "I…I guess I don't know. Maybe we do, but…just not tonight. Not feeling up to it, I suppose."

Ori nodded in a friendly fashion, shrugging as he reached for another apple in the middle of the table. "All right, then. Well, good to see you finally leave more for us, then!"

Billa swallowed sharply.

…_do I really eat that much?_

Her smile back to Ori's happy, oblivious face was fragile, but she willed strength behind it so it could stand and be seen on its own. "Yes. It's…uh…good, isn't it? Maybe I should eat less more often..."

Ori only laughed, and didn't respond to that comment. But Billa didn't really need his confirmation to assert for herself what her course of action should be.

Or what it_ would_ be.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **People who want to sword-fight: do NOT heed mean Dis' advice. D: It is completely wrong and erroneous for a reason. Cuz, y'know, mean Dis is mean.

Although I want it to be known that I am extremely fond of Dis. ;A; In my headcanon, I picture her as a fierce mother-bear character and not entirely this mean, controlling side of her that we are seeing now. She will get better later. Just...hang on. Because the story will go on. 8D Drama must come first.

Also, I'M BACK. SO. UPDATE. YAY. 8D I wrote this quickly for you lovely reviewers, followers, favoriters, because you're fantastic and wonderful and always make my entire life with your gracious comments. ;A;

So please, on my behalf, enjoy this, and have a wonderful day. 8D

EDIT: As a very amateur fanfic author for _The Hobbit, _I had never realized that Ori is, in fact, NOT the youngest dwarf of the lot. 8D; So, now, consider that mistake fixed! (And thanks, SummerAngelz, for bringing that to my attention!)


	5. Here Falls my Tears

The week passed by in a blur.

Sword practices were never very successful. Billa tried to obey Dis' orders, but ended up either tripping or dropping her sword repeatedly. This never earned her high marks towards getting on her attendant's good side, but Billa continued to try anyway, which only made her fail harder.

By day 3, Billa returned to her room to find several self-care and hygiene scrolls and books on her bed, most dedicated to hobbit health and beauty—with only a few relating to royal dwarven appearances.

(Because apparently, she, herself, grown up a hobbit, did not even know how to make herself look presentable.)

But that night, with a tight, strained sigh, she sat on the bed and got to work reading the material anyway, thinking that maybe there was something she was missing in her daily routine after all. Maybe she didn't know everything there was to know about getting herself ready or taking care of herself, however impossible that may have seemed.

(It was, however, the dwarven customs scrolls that she paid more attention to—perhaps because she subconsciously felt that was the knowledge she lacked the most in.)

She tried to ignore, however, the hunger that panged her stomach as she continuously ate less and less. Only when she was done bathing after practices did she dare glance at herself in the mirror, and run shaking hands over her shrinking arms and collarbone.

But a few days of less food wasn't enough to kill her, Billa knew. She could last for a while more yet, and only had to until day 7, when the fighting competition would begin—and when she knew she would lose—until she could be finally sent home and eat all that her little hobbit heart and stomach and body both needed and desired.

So she maintained. She strived.

Until day 6, when Dis apparently decided she had enough.

The she-dwarf had been extremely quiet during their practicing—which was unusual in itself. Billa had known her to be extremely vocal and commandeering, criticizing every wrong move the little hobbit would make, but today, there was none of that. None of anything, really. And that struck the suitor as very odd.

In retrospect, Billa shouldn't have asked it. Not really. She should have let Dis come to terms with her own questions so then the sudden interrogation would have happened more smoothly, more civilly—but she didn't.

Like the stupid, sentimental hobbit she was, she found herself pausing, wrist drooping just the slightest so that her already-angled-downward sword scraped the floor, as she asked tentatively, "Dis? Is everything all right…?"

It was the kindle Dis may have unintentionally needed to suddenly burst into flame.

"_WHY ARE YOU HERE_?" her voice snapped and roared, filling the room with such force and ferocity, it shook and startled Billa into dropping her sword with an even louder _clang_ as she winced and backed up.

The hobbit tried to deny that she was shaking—her pointed ears still rang with the volume of Dis' shout—dwarves could get _very _loud, she was quickly learning—as she stuttered. "I—I beg your pardon?"

"_Why_ are you _here_?" A bit quieter, now, but still scary. Still rising in intensity and desperation, and it all, quite honestly, terrified Billa.

The hobbit swallowed, hands clutching at the collar of her sweat-dampened garments, but she could find nothing to say. Part of her was still scrambling to catch up to the current moment, where Dis had suddenly turned into something…she didn't know how to describe. Angry? Confused? Frustrated? What had just happened? What had suddenly changed? "I…"

"_ANSWER ME._"

Dis swung her sword at the nearby rack of other weapons—axes, maces, swords and scabbards—and cut through the wooden latch holding them upright, letting them clamor to the floor in a cacophony of frightening, shrill shrieks and screams.

Or was that just Billa, startled beyond belief, as she scampered to find words to appease her raging attendant? She felt her back press against the cool stone wall behind her, and felt her hobbit instincts suddenly squirm and writhe under the petrifying knowledge that there was _nowhere to hide. _No method of defense she could usually offer herself. Nothing.

She was vulnerable.

"I—I—I guess—my p-people—they—"

"—_Do you _honestly _expect me to believe _that_?"_

Billa covered her face with both of her hands at the second _clang _and _bang _that resounded throughout the room, not even wanting to see what had happened. Her mouth kept gaping, kept moving as she trembled violently, trying to search deep down within to answer as honestly as she could.

Because—truthfully—why _was_ she here? Why was she even trying? Why did she want to impress his highness?

"I—I guess I want to get to know him—" Her voice came out as a tiny whimper.

"_LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU ANSWER."_

Pulling her hands away quickly, Billa tried to find stronger volume for her voice, but found she could only speak slowly at a painfully calming rate that demanded—or more like, politely required—patience. "I…I want to get to know him…"

"_Why_?"

"Because he _chose _me…" Still so slow, so quiet, as if she were beseeching Dis to lower her own volume and talk this out civilly. (Which, Billa felt, she really did want her dwarf attendant to do.)

"Speak _louder_!"

But Billa didn't. She tried, but her voice, barely able to speak as it was, stayed at its quiet, patient level of reasoning. Her eyes found Dis', and tremulously stayed there, locked yet afraid. "Out of all the people in Erebor, he chose _me_ to be one of five…and if he fancies me, then I want to be able to know him to fancy him, too. Y-you know? If anything happens, I want it to be mutual—"

She didn't expect for Dis to sharply spin on her heel and head towards the door in the middle of her answer. But she did find herself calling after the she-dwarf, almost in desperation—because her attendant couldn't really be leaving her? Not now, surely? Not right when she needed her most, the day before the battle? "—Dis?"

The dwarf shook her head, pulling it open and tossing her sword to the side carelessly. She didn't look back. It hurt the hobbit more than she knew. "I don't care, Halfling. Do whatever you want."

Billa swallowed, then called out again over the rising lump in her throat. "…Dis?"

This time, the she-dwarf stopped—right in the doorway—caught in the in-between of abandoning and aiding—and listened, as the small hobbit behind her uttered very quietly and very shakily, "…w-whatever it is I've done to make you hate me…I'm sor—"

The door clanged shut louder than anything else that had sounded in the past twenty minutes, for Billa felt the very same thing slam closed in her heart and marrow, and covered her face in sorrow and unknown regret, weeping apologies for all the things she had unintentionally—but still must've—hurt and broken that she didn't know about.

_Maybe I'm just no good at all._

* * *

When Billa saw who she was sitting beside that evening for dinner, she swallowed painfully, and couldn't help but think, _This won't end well._

But she took a breath and sat there anyway, and when dinner was served, she kept her head bowed, poking meekly at her food and taking meager bites when she felt that it was okay. She tried not to make contact, not to do anything that would anger more people—because Dis' cold departure from earlier that day still rang loud with a slamming door in her ears—and she wasn't quite used to people saying so much without saying anything at all—

—but when the king to her right leaned close and asked, "Billa, isn't it? Are you feeling all right?" Billa wanted to cry.

Feeling tight and pained and cold and awful, she pressed her quivering lips together, and blinked unshed tears away as best and as discreetly as she could. Silently, she begged Thorin not to notice and to not think her weak—because everyone else did, apparently—and she couldn't deny that's what she was—but she didn't know if she wanted that image of weakness or not, because she was always happy before as weak, but couldn't find herself to be happy now when everyone expected her not to be—and found herself smiling at him like cracking glass.

The tears were coming, she knew. And she could still be weak and let them come, she figured—but best to do so behind closed doors, and not in front of people who thought that same weakness was something to be beaten away.

"Billa…?"

So she calmly and slowly folded up the napkin upon her lap, stood, and then placed the folded cloth beside her silverware. Ensuring there were no wrinkles upon its surface with patient, practiced fingers, she then clasped her hands together in front of her, inhaled, exhaled, and then turned to the king. Her eyes were misty, but she continued to smile at him anyway as best she could, answering with more quiet confidence than she felt, "…whatever is not fine now, _will_ get better."

Billa gave the king one last smile—not wanting to examine his concerned, confused, and intrigued grey eyes more than she had to—they told so much, surely, but she didn't, honestly, want to know what he thought of her and her cowardly exit—and left as quickly as she could.

* * *

It is rumored that when hobbits cry, for a split-second, all of nature stops and feels an empathized pang with the Sorrow that Never Should Have Been. Leaves darken, the sky greys, and individuals among men, dwarves, elves, other hobbits, and creatures whose hearts have not yet hardened, sigh with a temporary, soft depression they cannot explain.

It lasts just a moment—but at that point in time, it was enough to bring a wizard of grey to a suitor's room to slip a note of encouragement under her door. It was painfully little, and he knew it was not enough to stop the tears, but it was the most he can do.

Luckily, it meant the world to the little hobbit on the other side.

* * *

_Stay brave. _

_G._

Two simple words and a letter of signing probably shouldn't mean too much, but Billa knew who it was from—knew that curvy, elongated writing as eloquently as she knew the old friend who had penned it—and couldn't help but let her shaking fingers trace the letters several times over to ink and stain them in their mind.

Turning over in her bed, she sighed a quiet, jagged sigh, hitting high and low pitches erratically—often the after-effect of a very hard, thorough cry—as she whispered to the ceiling, "Oh, Gandalf…what should I do…?"

She was hungry. So painfully so. Billa closed her eyes at the hollow ache in her abdomen—and knew in her gut she should do something about it because there was no way she could go to the arena tomorrow undernourished as she was. Hobbits had a special gift that she intended to use fully, and if she wasn't up to full capacity, it might just fail her. She could end up harming herself.

She knew what she was about to do wasn't, by any means, technically allowed. But she hoped the kitchen staff wouldn't mind.

She just needed _food._

So, wrapped up in her nightgown and her translucent salmon covering, Billa tip-toed out of her room and into the hallways, embarking on a night-lit adventure, completely fueled by her Took-blood.

She was careful to hug the side walls, clinging close to the shadows and praying that her hobbit-skills of being unnoticed and unseen continued to bless her throughout her trip down to the kitchens. She knew where they were by heart—for she had figured it out long ago when she had first become hungry—but that didn't make the journey any less arduous or nerve-wracking. Every sound, every foreign footstep, made her jump and hold her breath and continue to pray to remain invisible.

But at long last, she made it to the wooden door—only to find it already propped open by a certain other, familiar and incredibly large dwarf, sitting against it, surrounded by breads and fruits of all kinds as he munched heartily on a loaf.

"Bombur…" Billa whispered, surprised—although, in retrospect, she probably should have figured this was how he had eaten so much—and only realized too late that she had spoken aloud.

The other dwarf turned at the mention of his name, and upon sighting the outline of the small hobbit in the shadow, paled dramatically. "…drat. You aren't supposed to see me here," he whispered desperately to her.

Billa blinked, and then at the odd twist of fortune—for wasn't _she_ supposed to be afraid of _him_, who had caught _her_ sneaking around at night?—quirked a smile, amused. "I'm not…?"

"No. Only the chefs know, and that's 'cuz they're family." If it was possible, Bombur made his eyes even wider, even larger and rounder—most obviously pleading with her silence, now, if he wasn't before. "I—aw—nuts—_don't _tell anyone, okay? I won't ever hear the end of it from the others if they see I'm still eating so much…"

Billa couldn't help but feel for his plight. Her eyes softened—and at the worst moment—her stomach chose to painfully growl and murmur in response to the food before her.

But instead of feeling ashamed, she couldn't help but flush and pat her flat abdomen, an idea rising up in her mind. Meeting Bombur's curious and fearful eyes, she smiled—or, more so, smirked—and uttered, "Well…_I _won't tell anyone…as long as you _share_. Okay?"

Recognition lit up behind Bombur's eyes, and he grinned at his fellow food-lover. "Oh-ho-ho-ho, _that_ I think I can do, little hobbit."

And as Bombur moved over to make room for his new hobbit companion, neither knew it would be the start of a tradition of midnight snackery—a very good thing that could not have happened to Billa Baggins at a better time.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Finally published! ;A; I had been holding on to this baby for a little while...mostly because I wrote it before I finished the chapters of _Growing Evergreens _and _Camera Shy_, but now that those two have been updated, I can finally work on this again and update it like I have! So! Omgsh yay! ;A; I absolutely LOVE writing for this! It's become so much fun! It's my personal little love-child. ;A; So. Yeah.

Mean Dis is mean again! Things reach a really painful point! The next update will be the fighting-ring challenge! But it'll all work out. :) Because we all know who wins. (It's just the journey that's important, isn't it?)

Thanks SO SO SO much, everyone who's stuck with me thus far! ;A; Like I keep saying, you're all superb, beautiful people! I simply can't believe it! ;A;

So to you all: have a beautiful day!


	6. Here Goes Nothing

She had no armor.

Well, none of them did, really, and perhaps it was irrational, but that was all Billa could focus on as the five of them stepped forward into the rocky, dusty terrain of the arena. The fact that she had no armor and therefore, was vulnerable and useless. The sword weighed extra-heavy on her hip—part of her, that respectable Baggins side, she supposed—worried over the silly fact that it might pull down her pants (there was no chance of that, really, she knew), so she kept adjusting it, keeping her hand on it as if to hold it up (although that, too, was pointless).

Rather, she knew her mind was _really _up to. It was just trying to focus on anything _other_ than the fact that, well, there were a whole _lot _of dwarves, orcs and men gathered to see this...this…_thing_.

(It really didn't surprise her not to see any hobbits in the seats surrounding the stadium. Fighting was just not their cup of tea, not even if one of their own were competing within it. Blood just downright made them squirm. So she wasn't hurt there wasn't anyone from the Shire there to see her. No. Not at all.)

Although Gandalf was there. There was no mistaking his grey robes, and the familiar sight of it brought a tentative smile to the hobbit's face. She almost, even, forgot where she was upon seeing him.

Almost, however.

Then Balin spoke.

"A reminder of the rules before we begin. Only one cut eliminates a competitor. Attacks aimed for the head, neck, chest and stomach are off-limits and will immediately disqualify the attacker, as will a second attack if a competitor has already been eliminated."

Right. Well, that was reassuring. Almost.

(That seemed to be such a key word, so fitting for the moment. For everything.)

Billa swallowed and tried to forget the way every nerve felt so on fire with anxiety that she just might have a heart attack or an aneurism or gain an ulcer. Her hands shook just the slightest. Even the one resting/holding up her sword and scabbard trembled violently, which made it clink oddly and loudly against the metal binding it to her belt.

The hobbit swallowed and pressed her eyes closed tightly.

_Be calm. Stay brave. Stay brave, Billa. Gandalf wouldn't have written those two words to you if he didn't think you could._

Right.

Right.

"Best of luck to all of you."

Billa's eyes snapped open, and her heart skipped faster and faster. Any moment now—at any second, the words would sound and anything could happen—oh gosh, she wasn't meant to fight—she wasn't meant to hurt anyone; she didn't want to _get _hurt—

_Stay brave. Stay brave._

Billa's lips traced the words over and over again like a life-breathing mantra that might keep her heart beating a second longer before everything turned to hell.

_Stay brave._

"Begin."

And Billa ran.

* * *

Yoris was the first to fall. It was a cut to the thigh that took her down, executed by an agile Ithur who had rolled and swung at her at the same time—an impressive feat, Thorin noted and pointed out to Dwalin at his left as they watched the proceedings. The burly dwarf nodded in return, eyes that had seen and knew proper fighting more than plenty of other dwarves twice his age dancing around the three remaining competitors, skillfully scrutinizing.

Bolg, in the meantime, turned around in time to block the sideways swing of Derrin's axe that had come at him immediately from his left. But then, using the dwarf's momentum against him, the orc then caught Derrin off guard in a successful shift of energy, using it to disarm the dwarf and knick him mid-forearm in one smooth go.

Thorin, meanwhile, was mightily impressed. Not five minutes had passed and already two competitors were out! The skills of these other two fighters were incredible!

But truly, it was then the fight between Ithur and Bolg as they then turned to each other, that had the audience on their feet.

Parry after parry, the skilled fighters let their metals sing with sweet union, clash, and rebound. Just the rapid percussion of their swords and grunts alone pushed people to rise in blood-pumping anticipation; it was, however, the incredible dodges and nimble attacks that actually made the spectators cry out and cheer sometimes in disbelief, sometimes in thrill, their voices shrill and loud in support.

A duck here, a spin and slice there—it was hard not to get into the proceedings. Thorin himself found his own voice shouting and adding to the ruckus—although he wasn't quite sure who he was cheering for.

It was just pure _exhilaration_.

And it seemed to spin ever onward for ages. The two fighters' ankles gathered and kicked up so much dust, there were clear ruts in the ground—clear markings of the incredible chaos that had passed through—and that was still on-going.

Then, Ithur made one misstep.

It was the barest of things—the slightest stumble—but it gave Bolg all the opportunity he needed to land the edge of his blade against the dwarf's shoulder.

And the crowd went wild.

Bolg was grinning—amazing, for an orc—but it had been long since he'd fought with such a skilled warrior that wasn't one of his own just for the sake of fighting—and Ithur was grinning right back, hand grasping his wounded shoulder to staunch the bleeding as two dwarves came out to help him back to the sidelines.

"Good fight, comrade," Ithur nodded to the orc in fair sportsmanship as he pushed himself to stand from where he had dropped to his knees.

The orc nodded back politely, lowering his scimitar. And as Ithur was then led away, Bolg turned to the crowd surrounding the arena and held both fisted hands and curved weapon up into the air, igniting a roar of approval and excitement from them that seemed to fuel and pump through his bloodflow like electricity.

His grin never left, even as the roaring went on and on for far longer than he thought it should have. Because, something should have happened by then, he couldn't help but think. Where was the congratulations? Where was the statement that he had won?

Gradually, the crowd began to become aware of this, too, and their cheering began to die down into quiet, confused murmurings. What was going on? And why did they feel as if they were missing something? Three competitors had been eliminated, right? And that was all there had to be, wasn't it? Just three—

—oh.

The proud smile on Bolg's face dropped in snarling realization at the same instant as a timid, but rising battle-cry erupted from his right.

Turning just in time, he pressed his sword forward to meet the hobbit's that had come swinging at him, feeling the swipe of the weakly-thrusted cold metal (not wielded right at all; typical, dumb hobbit) brush by his fingers. In a rush of desperation, he flipped his scimitar to his other hand, using it in the next split-second to strike the stumbling creature high on her arm and thereby ending her pitiful struggle.

Bolg sneered down at the despicable thing, something deep within him purring with glee at her shocked, pained cry—clearly, one sung from a creature who had not known this type of pain before—and watched as she slid to her knees, forgetting her sword and grasping desperately at her bleeding arm.

Billa's entire form shuddered in shock at the sudden flare of fire burning her limb. Oh _gosh_—that had _hurt_! As if it wasn't metal, but burning iron that had seared flesh away and had poisoned the surrounding skin into a stinging, horrible cacophony of sound and pain. It was awful—it wasn't normal—how did dwarves and orcs and men _deal _with this?

She was, however, brought back to herself the instant she saw the orc's foot as he stepped into her line of sight on the dusty field. He spit one word down at her that, quite frankly, she found a bit amusing.

"Coward."

Despite herself, Billa felt a smile tug at either corners of her lips.

"Nope," she responded quietly, weakly, before she lifted her eyes to the orc's. It was then she became aware that the entire audience had suddenly turned deathly silent, everyone everywhere not saying or making a sound—and the thought thrilled her because that meant they had _noticed. _"I gotcha, Bolg."

Gotcha?

Bolg's eyes narrowed, doing a quick assessment of his being. At first, he could find nothing, and he was about to call the hobbit out on her treacherous lie—until his eyes, much to his horror, finally caught sight of the thin black liquid slowly drip-dripping from his the top of his fingers in a shallow line (he had felt that brush, hadn't he? Soft as a feather, as unassuming as a dull dart) down to the ground below.

"That means _I win._"

…what?

No.

_No._

Enraged, seeing red, Bolg lifted his scimitar, only to be stopped by several dwarves who had finally reached Billa and pulled her to her feet with disbelieving murmurs. Incredulous shouts of, "The hobbit won? After all that?" and amazed cries of, "How clever!" were caught between dazed interjections of, "I can't decide if that was cowardly or incredibly smart!" as the crowd finally returned to their senses after such a dumbfounding spectacle.

Bolg grit his teeth and simmered to the side, shoving away dwarves who had come to tend to his wounded hand as his eyes searched the stands. He was _fine_; he did _not _need help or assistance or condolences. What he needed—_who _he needed—

But when his eyes finally found the pair of dark orbs that belonged to his father, he fought the intense shiver that suddenly danced down his spine at the look.

It was calculating. Thinking.

And Bolg knew that from his father, that could sometimes be far worse than outright anger.

* * *

Immediately after all of them had been bandaged for their respectful injuries, they had all been reassembled at the throne room, lined up and presented before the king in all of their dusty—and for some of them, sweaty—grandeur.

Billa wasn't sure if it was normal that so many common dwarves, men and orcs were gathered together to watch the proceedings in the large hall, but she stood there quietly, holding her shaking hands together in front of her as best she could anyway, feeling the heated glares of anger as acutely as she did the studies of curiosity.

However, she was far too occupied to care. Her nerves, as far as she was concerned, were still ringing from that stupid, reckless charge she had made.

But _oh, _how it had been exhilarating. She couldn't stop smiling as small as possible—but smiling just the same. It—it had just been so exciting! So invigorating!

And she had _won_!

_But that is far enough excitement for one hobbit's lifetime, _her Baggins side chided. _Adrenaline is not so good for the skin, my dear. Gives you wrinkles far earlier than you should have—didn't one of the scrolls say something like that?_

_But oh, posh it all!_ boasted her good mother, Belladonna Took's voice in her head. _You only live once, my girl, and you did good. You've gotta live it all you've got. That was only the start of adventure!_

_And you need no more! Why had you even made the charge? Why did you even try? You had been doing so well hiding…Why ruin it and give your hiding place up at the very end?_

Billa wasn't sure. But strangely, she didn't feel too inclined to figure it out. It had all been spur-of-the-moment, and that was all. Something daring in her blood, rare but strong, had burst forth at that crucial moment in the arena with the courage that demanded such an act, and she had carried it through like a willing pup, eager to obey her own whims.

And sure, she had gotten a scrape for it. But she had also _won _because of it. Against all odds. Her—a hobbit! Winning the first competition—the _fighting ring_!

Billa's smile slipped as she then and suddenly became fully-conscious of the raging eyes upon her from the gathered population. _Oh wait, _she feared. _I…I _won_. I won—what have I done? I just—oh, people are going to be furious! They already are! I practically…I practically stole the winning rug right out from under Bolg's feet because I had waited until there was one left and oh—oh no—_

But she had no time to think about it further because at that moment, Thorin entered and all sound ceased within the chamber.

Billa pressed her lips together hard, and tried not to look at the fuming orc beside her, from whom she could practically feel the radiating heat of anger from.

Yep. She was pretty much dead.

"This has been quite the surprising day," Thorin said as he reached his throne. He did not yet sit down, but instead, much to Billa's surprise, apparently chose to remain standing as his eyes skimmed over the five gathered competitors. "I do not think any one of us expected a _hobbit _to win the fighting ring this morning—I, least of all."

Billa squeezed her eyes together shut in embarrassment. She really should _not _have tried. _Why_ did she try? Oh, why did she even swing her sword? Why? Why? Why? What was she thinking?

"But."

It was Thorin's tone that made the hobbit open her eyes—and find that his own steel greys were locked on her in something close to curiosity and intrigue that made Billa's heart beat just a little bit faster. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

Then the king continued, his eyes firm on hers. "But it definitely served as an interesting reminder. We have underestimated hobbits, it seems—or, at the very least, this one. So say what you will about her supposedly 'cheating'—" –oh, was that what people were saying she had done? Oh, no— "—in the end, I find her method of stealth, of letting the enemy fight each other while forgetting she existed, until she could strike at the opportune moment on the final standing rival—I find it incredibly intuitive and resourceful."

Thorin smiled, and Billa couldn't help but think it was rather handsome for a dwarf king.

"So with that said, I am happy to announce Billa Baggins as the winner of week 1's competition, and declare her an automatic successor to the next week of events."

The applause afterwards was echoing and booming—loud and unceremoniously amplified in the marble quarters of Thorin's throne room—as they, some of them reluctantly, approved of the king's message and appointment. Billa flushed heavily at the reception, and bowed her head meekly in thanks.

But then, they all quieted for the next announcements.

"Also, remaining for next week, are Ithur and Bolg. We would be remiss if we did not acknowledge the great skills you two have showcased in your battle today. You are both most admirable and worthy for further consideration of Consortship, and I am honored to keep you as possible suitors for the next week," Thorin asserted, dipping his head to each of them in respect.

Ithur grinned and also dipped his head in return. Bolg only budged his chin.

More clapping ensued—slightly more enthusiastic and supportive of them rather than the first time they had applauded for the hobbit, but Billa didn't mind; she knew she didn't deserve whatever applause they had awarded her.

But then, the king turned to the final two remaining dwarves, and Billa felt guilt swell up in her stomach. Oh, should one of them have been her? Did she really deserve to stay?

"Derrin and Yoris, for one of you, your trial ends here."

She hadn't really gotten to know them, but Billa still felt for them. To have come so far—and then be the first to be turned away—and probably when they least deserved it, too.

She pressed her lips together in sympathy as the king gave his verdict.

"Yoris, I am sorry, but I must ask you to leave for home."

And just like that, it was down to four. Three males, one female.

Billa felt very out-of-place.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Did anyone see that coming? 8D Huh? Maybe? Yes? No?

I thought because "The Hobbit" was coming out on DVD today, I'd honor it by updating. x333 And because you guys are so freakin' fantastic, and so awfully nice in your reviews, I also just, just had to do it. ;A; You all are simply and completely wonderful, and I am helpless to your requests of not keeping you guys waiting, so. Here. ;A; Here it is.

Enjoy, and happy Hobbit-release day! 8D (Totally made that up. Don't treat it like an actual holiday and take off of work or something for it. K? K.)


	7. Here's My Fears

"The dwarf king was right."

Bolg didn't want to hear that. That wasn't…that wasn't good news; not for him. Not if his father was actually agreeing with commendations towards a rival…

"How?" he growled immediately.

Azog didn't once look at him. Not yet. "Her tactic was smart. Underhanded, perhaps, but well-played. You should have done better."

"So you're _glad _she won?"

"Only an idiot would think she shouldn't have." Finally, those dark, older eyes snapped to Bolg's, and the younger orc fought the immediate instinct to growl and bare his teeth in a sign of challenge or aggression of the statement. No, he couldn't do that in the face of his father, who would snap his neck before he had even made a charge. That would just be stupid. "No, _you _deserved to lose because _you _forgot she was there. That is not her mistake; she only used your fault against you."

"But she is a _hobbit_; they have that—"

"—_that is no excuse_." The grumbling, low dismissal unnerved Bolg more than he cared to show. "A true, skilled warrior never forgets his enemy or relaxes his guard. You keep track of them. Always."

Bolg grit his teeth, knowing his father was right—always, always right—as Commander of the Orc Army under King Thorin, Azog was the best fighter by far in all of Erebor. If he said Bolg had made a mistake, Bolg had made a mistake. There was no dancing around that.

(Didn't mean he had to like the fact, though.)

Azog's dark, beady eyes regarded his son carefully, heavily, before he snorted his dismissal. "I'm disappointed."

Bolg lowered his eyes a fraction, red-hot anger coursing through him as he thought of the little, insignificant gnat of a hobbit who had stolen his dinner with the king and the glory of winning the first competition all in one small knick against his fingers. Oh, and not only that—but also made his father disappointed in him as well.

She would pay.

"It will not happen again."

A puff of air escaped Azog's nostrils as he gave the subtlest of approving nods. "Good."

* * *

Billa was moving in a daze as she prepared herself for the evening. Dinner with the king—she couldn't believe she was about to have dinner with the king. Alone. Exclusively them two. And she had _earned _it.

Well, kinda. Sort of. The jury was still out on that.

(Really, looking back on it, she only considered it pure luck that she won at all. It had been a reckless move, that charge. There had been nothing composed or planned about it. No strategy, no game. Just pure adrenaline and dumb Took-blood. But was that right? Was that justified? Did she really cheat? Did she deserve this victory?)

Billa looked at her reflection in the mirror as she pinned small, white bittercresses in her hair that Kili and Fili had picked for her from outside the palace. ("It was all we could find on such short notice in congratulations!" "And we know hobbits like flowers, so—" "—we hope you like them!" Speechless, she had given each of them a kiss on the cheek in dearest thanks and affection for them, which the two brothers seemed to appreciate as well.)

In truth, she loved the bittercresses. They were perfect for what she wanted; they were small, not too fancy or anything stunning.

Just like her, she supposed.

Billa swallowed harshly, gazing long and hard at the hobbit she saw in the mirror. Flowers in her hair, paling skin and thinning limbs. But that wasn't—that wasn't right, was it? Wasn't—wasn't that same hobbit supposed to be home by now? Where had her plans of returning to the Shire and home—_Bag_ _End—_gone?

_What am I doing? What…what do I want, anymore?_

Billa touched the mirror and wished she could answer.

* * *

"You look nervous."

Did she?

Oh.

Billa swallowed and cleared her throat, flushing as she sat across from his highness. The lit candlesticks did not go by unnoticed to her; neither did the gold-rimmed table cloth and china before her. Even their goblets had gems embedded in their handles.

This, of course, only served to make her flush harder as she took it all in. "W-well…it's hard not to be. Especially when you pull out your best dishes for our…uh, dinner."

Thorin raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Is it too much?"

Billa lifted her head sharply, shaking her hands in the negative as she met his amused gaze. "Oh! No—no—it's just—"

"—because this _is _what it will be like should you become queen—"

"—yes, I, uh, suppose it will, it's just that I'm not used to it; that's all. Sorry…sorry; forget I said anything." Bowing her head again, Billa placed her fidgeting hands in her lap, and tried to quiet herself into a more presentable, more pleasant companion for dinner. Because she couldn't well be rambling and making a fool of herself on her one chance to impress the king, right?

(…and if Billa were to be honest with herself, some small, young and thriving part of her found that yes, she very much _did _want to impress him. But was that okay? Was that allowed?)

Thorin gave a curious inhale and exhale—not necessarily a sigh—but a definite take and give of breath in response that Billa found strange. Wondering, she lifted her head as he spoke, "Halfling, I feel as if something is troubling you. You seem to be…putting on a face while you are here, and I'm not sure if that face fits you, nor that if I like it. Tell me—what is wrong?"

The words shocked Billa into an open stare at the king's expectant face. "W-wrong…?"

The dwarf tilted his head to the side in a flat invitation for common sense. "Do not think I haven't noticed you eating so little at our dinners. Surely, that's not normal for a hobbit."

Oh.

Billa pressed her lips together as he continued. "And just the other day, you were quite fragile at dinner. You left far too soon—just after the meal had been served—and it appeared as if you were about to cry. Now, please don't try to act like I am some blind king who does not notice when one of his subjects is hurting—tell me. Although you have put it behind you enough to have amazingly won today's challenge, what _truly_ ails you?"

The hobbit pulled her shoulders in, and felt very tight and ugly in the face of such kindness. She couldn't even bring her eyes to meet Thorin's stormy greys, and instead stared at the tablecloth in a watery, awkward silence as she tried to find her words.

But finally, they came—very quietly, very hushed, as if she were departing a great secret for the king alone to hear.

"…your highness…I…I regret to inform you that I feel…as if ever since I have stepped foot into your palace…I have done nothing but wrong." Swallowing tightly, the hobbit continued. "I feel as if…as if every move I've made has been in err or been a mistake, and I have…a-angered people. Or upset them, somehow. And it…and I don't know what it _is, _or what I should _do…_but I am sorry all the same…"

Thorin was very quiet for a very long time.

And the burning moment continued to stretch before he finally spoke; yet when he did, it was in amazement. "…where in _all _of Middle-Earth do you get the crazy assumption you've done something _wrong_?"

Startled, Billa finally looked up and met his stunned gaze with surprise of her own. "I—well—"

"Do you realize my nephews have spoken nothing but praise of you ever since that first night you spent here?"

Wait, what?

Billa's eyes widened as Thorin continued, clearly miffed—but only slightly. "Every day, all I hear is, 'Uncle! Uncle! Listen to this riddle the hobbit stumped us with the other night!' or 'Have you seen the hobbit today yet, Uncle? Doesn't she look stunning?' and even better: 'The hobbit likes flowers, Uncle! Don't you think she'd be more at home if we had a palace garden?' But let me remind you, they know _nothing _about actual gardening. No dwarf does. They're simply and completely infatuated with you—which, let me inform you, is no easy task—and if they had their own way, I'm sure they would demand to be your companions for dinner _every _night."

Stunned, Billa could hardly find her voice. "I…" But where she tried to speak, nothing came out. Her lips moved uselessly. "…r-really…?"

"Yes!" Thorin nodded, and began to rant. So caught up in his words, he even stood and left the table, beginning to pace as he rattled off what he had heard. "Bofur thinks you're hilarious and the best thing that's dropped into Erebor since the Arkenstone. Ori is fond of you—admires you, even—and Bombur. Oh, _Bombur—_he talks about you as if you're his next best friend!"

_He—he does?_

Overwhelmed, Billa didn't know what to say—still didn't—even after the king turned, marched back to the table and placed his hands on either side of it, leaning over and speaking low as he muttered, "And what about today? Today alone—do you know what you've done?"

Billa swallowed dryly. _That_, she could answer. Or at least, she thought she could. "I…I cheated…"

"No." Thorin laughed, leaning back, his robus peal of laughter rebounding off the ceiling and back down to the table. "_Oh _no. You haven't cheated, little Halfling. You've taught people a lesson—specifically, those who considered themselves the underdogs. You've shown them that even without techniques and brawn, they can still be brave—and it may just get them somewhere. Sure, there are those who are against you, who think you cowardly and ill-deserving of winning. There are many who question my decision to have even kept you in the running."

_And why _did _you keep me? _Billa wanted to ask, but mystified, listening in wonder, she repressed the words.

"Some people are angry, yes, that you won—but for most of them, that's because they don't realize those other two _shouldn't _have won because they underestimated you. A fatal mistake for any fighter. Any good swordsman knows that."

Did they, really? Billa could hardly dare to believe that her victory was somehow justified. Feeling her heart grow too big for its small ribcage, she bit her lip.

"Everyone's not sure what to think of you—and I must admit, even _I _don't know what to think about you—because we're all catching glimpses of this unique courage in you that has never been seen in a hobbit before." Thorin leaned back on the table again, arms bracing him up as he looked deep in the blues of the hobbit on the other side. "So then, tell me. What is it, exactly, that you think you've done wrong, in the face of such remarkable influence?"

Billa felt her face flush and she discreetly waved her hand, covering her mouth with thin fingers as she tried to find her words. "I…" But no—that wasn't what she wanted to say. She shook her head, hand dropping back to her lap as she dipped her head, before looking at him in open thanks. "Your words are much too kind. I…I don't know what to say…"

"Then you can stop using such formal speech, for one." Thorin sat down in his chair. "And be yourself. If you truly are an enigma and can't help that, then so be it. But just _be you. _It won't make my life easier, but if it will make you stop bowing your head as if you were a servant, then good. I'll live."

Billa bit her lip, watching him. "Oh. Okay. I…I'm sorry. I don't mean to make your life hard, my king—"

"—and no more apologies, Halfling. I speak only because I'd rather finally see you happy than with clouds in your eyes every day. It's wrong to see a hobbit…joyless." Thorin pressed his lips together, before reluctantly leaning back and signaling for the servants to finally enter and deliver their food. "It's like seeing the sky is red, somehow, rather than its normal blue. It just isn't supposed to be. So do us all a favor and smile. Yes?"

But Billa already was, very warmly, very happily, and with trembling, glassy eyes. Thorin tried to look away and dismiss it—but her purely open…whatever-beauty-that-was that lit her from the inside at that moment made her actually quite hard to ignore.

And when she spoke, something very peaceful slid into his chest and spread down his limbs like warm tea.

"…thank you, Thorin."

No 'king,' no 'highness.' Just 'Thorin.'

And the dwarf king found he rather liked that. He slowly smiled back.

* * *

Billa leaned against her bedroom door and pressed it back to a closed position, finally feeling fuller than she had in a long time. During dinner, the king had laid to rest her fears about somehow 'overeating' in front of his dwarven companions, claiming it as a stupid and false assumption. Dwarves were free to eat however much they want—just look at Bombur, he had said. ("He just gets a hard time because we've known him since he was a wee lad." She had giggled helplessly at that.)

But she also felt definitely happier and lighter than she had ever felt since this journey first began, and _that _was a plus. Definitely a relief from all the tumultuous emotions she had been thrust through over the seven days.

And yet, she couldn't believe it. _Only week one's over, and already, I feel like I've ridden an emotional roller coaster, _the hobbit laughed at herself.

The grin lingering after her amusement subsided, Billa lifted her head from the wooden door and then bowed it forward as she raised a hand to her forehead and pressed fingertips against her temple as if to ground her emotions and happy, flying thoughts that still remained high up there somewhere in the sky. It had…been so pleasant, that dinner with the king. So much so, and leaving such a fluttering, lingering after-effect, that she failed to notice the other dwarf in her room until the woman finally spoke.

"It went well, I take it?"

Gasping, Billa's head snapped up to make out the familiar outline in the shadow of the night, not daring to believe that it was true. "Dis? You're—you've come back?"

The dwarf scoffed loudly and derisively. "Don't sound too excited. Nothing's changed. I'm still your 'attendant' or what-have-you." There was a shift of fabric as she crossed her arms over her chest, and muttered, "But dinner with the king? It went…_well_, I take it?"

Billa smiled in fondness, sagging back against her door in happy reminiscence. "Oh, he…he's so _good_, Dis. I'm sure you already know this, but…you have a _very _good king."

"Of course," Dis quickly dismissed, before stalking forward, her arms falling and hands fisting by her sides as she neared the littler hobbit. "Glad you finally realized it, Halfling. But now the question raises: do you think you'd be good _for _him?"

The auburn-haired hobbit blinked, and tried to answer as honestly as possible, even while she felt small again. "W-well, I honestly can't say just yet; I've really only just gotten to know him a little, so—"

"—that might just be the way it stays if you don't watch yourself, Halfling. You _do _realize you've stupidly set the bar high for yourself? Now if you fail, what will happen? One wrong move, and will suddenly those who you've won over by your stunt today lose their faith in you?"

Billa swallowed sharply. "I—I hope not—"

"—all I'm saying is: just don't get comfortable, Halfling. Big egos don't suit you."

Right. She…she knew that. Big egos were never good for anyone.

(Was she really getting one?)

The hobbit nodded, bowing her head slightly. "O-of course. I—I won't."

"Good."

* * *

**Crystal's Notes:** Guys. ;.; I. I don't know what to say. I have over one hundred follows. More than _o__ne hundred follows. _You know what that MEANS to me? (wants to sob with joy and gratitude) I have only ONE other story that has more follows than this, and that is my hiatus-ed Hetalia one that currently has 14 chapters! Not this wee little babe of 7 meager ones! ;A; MORE THAN ONE HUNDRED FOLLOWS!

I love you all. So much more than you know.

I'm so, so sorry for the long wait on this. It's been finished for forever, but Elsa and I's schedules have been crazy as of late, so she hasn't been able to beta it. This chapter still isn't beta'd, but I just decided not to wait anymore.

Here it is. ;.; You people are too good to me.

Enjoy, and the next one's already underway. Prepare for more fun times to come!


	8. Here's How I Love

"_Congratulations to those of you who have made it to week 2. This week's challenge is quite different from the first. It will literally occur over the entire week, and while that sounds daunting, it is actually a rather light and easy task. That is, if you get along with people."_

"Almost done packing, Halfling?" Dis called from the hobbit's bed, idly examining her beard she had just trimmed with a handheld mirror as she reclined.

Billa panted as she tried for the thousandth time to sit upon the she-dwarf's trunk lid in order to finally snap it closed over the bulk of clothes and other such riff-raff she had packed for the week. So far, the going had been rough and she hadn't gained much lee-way on simply pressing down as hard as she could. But gravity plus her own hobbit-weight didn't seem to be doing much good, either. "I—no—having a bit of—difficulty—here."

Dis pursed her lips at her reflection, but didn't seem any more inclined to lend a hand towards her own luggage. "Too bad."

"_During the next seven days, you will be travelling around the kingdom of Erebor and visiting each of the major race settlements—that means, the Lonely Mountain for the Dwarves, Hobbiton (or, the 'Shire') for the Hobbits, Esgaroth (also known as the 'Lake-Town') for the Humans, and Mount Gundabad for the Orcs—in order to…gain support for yourselves, shall we say. This is an opportunity for the people to have a say in their own co-ruler, as well as a chance to see how frugal you are."_

When she finally with a great hop on top of it managed to snap it closed, Billa slid off the trunk with a relieved sigh, dusting her hands (although…her feet had really done all the work). "I—Dis, we're travelling by horse, right? How…how is a horse going to carry _this_?"

"_You will each be given an equal amount from the king to spend however you may wish. But how you _do_ spend it will also affect whether or not you stay for the following week. So spend it wisely."_

"Horses _can _pull wagons, Halfling. Or do you not even have that kind of transportation technology back in your rustic home of the Shire?"

Oh.

Billa swallowed, meekly moving to her own travelling sack that she had begun to fill with clothes and necessities for the week. It was rather small compared to Dis', and could be worn as a backpack, which was how she had originally thought she would carry it. But it didn't seem so that way anymore. "Um…actually, no, we don't; hobbits usually never leave the Shire, so we don't…_have _'transportation technology.'"

An amused, crude smirk tugged at the side of Dis' mouth. She set the mirror off to the side. "How primitive."

"_Each of your attendants shall accompany you for your different itineraries. It has been arranged, also, for each of you to, on the same day that you visit your home lands, spend the night there as well in a two-day stay. And do enjoy it. For some of you, it will be the last night spent there in a long while."_

Billa frowned at the fabric in her hands as she carefully folded one of her shirts and placed it inside her sack. "_You_ may call it primitive, but to me, that's home. It's…_simpler. _Happier. No need to go anywhere, no worries or fears…"

Dis hummed uninterestedly. "Sounds boring."

The hobbit smiled to herself as she finished packing and buttoned her sack closed. "It's beautiful, actually."

The she-dwarf remained unconvinced.

"_Each of you leave tomorrow. Safe travels!"_

Billa couldn't wait.

* * *

While Ithur travelled on to visit the hobbits, Derrin the orcs, and Bolg Lake-Town, Billa and Dis, both saw, were to not travel very far at all their first day. The Lonely Mountain—or, rather, the Palace-Dwelling itself, really—the capital part of Erebor—was where they would begin.

And Dis seemed to not want to accompany Billa at all into the marketplace of it.

(Especially when her eyes caught sight of two certain people approaching Billa at a fast pace.)

"Dis—?"

"—listen, I'll be watching you, but I was never here, okay? I don't exist—"

"—what? But I don't—"

"—_just follow orders, Halfling_! By Durin's beard…" And with that, she wormed away through the crowd, disappearing like wind among her fellow dwarves mingling just outside the marketplace.

Billa felt very small, all of three-feet like a normal hobbit—but left alone and surrounded by dwarves who were at least a foot taller, so she wasn't quite sure what to do not to make herself trampled over. So worried was she about feet, she didn't expect two large arms to suddenly wind themselves around her shoulders from nowhere and spin her around to face their familiar owners—although when they did, she suddenly felt so very much more protected.

"Kili and Fili," she breathed in relief, sagging at the sight of the two brothers, nephews to the king. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"And us, you," Fili replied, nodding his head amicably.

Kili looked perplexed and preoccupied, however, eyes scanning the crowd around them as though searching for someone while he spoke, "Although I could have sworn I saw Mother by you a mere second ago—"

The word made Billa's eyes widen. _Wait. Mother_…?

Fili nodded in equal confusion. "—very, very strange; but what would Mother be doing here?"

"I don't know. Perhaps I was seeing things—"

"—wouldn't be the first time—"

"—look who's talking—"

"—um, please don't fight," Billa spoke up between them, splaying out her tiny hands in defense. _Mother—Mother—Dis is their _mother? _No wonder—oh, but that means—oh dear—Dis is Thorin's sister? _"This isn't the right place to get into a brawl, don't you think?" Oh gosh, what was she saying? How could she think?

_No wonder she's…oh, no wonder, no wonder! Thorin's her brother! This explains everything!_

The sudden clap on her shoulder by Fili's hand brought reality back down to the small, bewildered hobbit, who had just had a staggering revelation that went quite unnoticed by the two brothers. "Right again, clever hobbit. Right again."

"But hey!" Kili spoke, grinning. "Since we're here, now—"

"—oh, bright idea, Kili—"

"—thank you, thank you. I thought so myself. Why don't we show you around?"

Billa blinked up at them in shock. "W-wait…you'd…you two would act as my guides?"

"Of course!" Fili grinned.

Kili nodded excitedly. "Why not? We'd be the very best guides there ever were. There isn't a single dwarf who knows the Lonely Mountain as well as Fili and I do—"

"—none at all—"

"—if we do boast so, ourselves." The two exchanged cheeky grins.

Billa could hardly hope to believe. "That'd…well, that'd be wonderful! Thank you very much!"

Both prince brothers backed up and bowed in a near-eerie symmetrical fashion that Billa couldn't help but find it incredibly cute. She grinned widely, enchanted.

"Fili and Kili—"

"—at your service."

And all for a day.

* * *

Gold. Gems. Silver chains. Vivid, bright beads. Extravagant jewelry of all kinds—no piece of dwarven craft was left unnoticed by the trio as they meandered through the stalls, examining all that the vendors had to sell. And even though Fili had even put some of it on to "showcase" it to her—and further making her laugh harder than she had in a long time, for she honestly couldn't take him seriously when he spoke with that lilting, high accent she was sure quite emasculated him while bedazzled with glittering gems which had Kili laughingly disowning him as a brother—none of it caught her eye enough to purchase.

So the brothers tried other dwarven goods. The weapons were for sure a no-go, considering her eyes grew so fearfully big and she simply couldn't lift even the lightest and smallest axe they could find for her. Then they tried dwarven clothing, but that didn't work either because none would fit her.

They were just about to give up and continue roaming the marketplace when they heard the music.

It had caught Billa's attention quite immediately, and like a moth to flame, she felt drawn towards the singing strings and beating drums inexplicably. Tentatively, almost daringly, she took a step towards it. "Who _is _playing that lovely melody?" she breathed.

Kili grinned, finally relieved that something had so enraptured and thrilled the hobbit from their culture. "Like what you hear?"

"Oh, yes," she murmured, closing her eyes briefly as if to let the faint songs soak into her skin.

Fili hummed, looking far to the end of the marketplace, where the open amphitheater rested—and where no doubt the lovely music was originating from. "Would you like to go listen?" he asked, restraining a grin as the question made their hobbit friend brighten to sun-like degrees.

"Oh, could we? Could we?" she practically begged, hopping on spot.

The brothers laughed. How could they deny her that?

* * *

Hobbits dance.

It wasn't quite what Fili and Kili had imagined when they arrived; they had thought for sure Billa would just enjoy sitting and listening to the enchanting tunes and twisting, singing melodies—but not so. It was as if they had been sitting for just a moment, having just gotten to rest their feet after so much walking and sightseeing, that suddenly the hobbit had pounced up and began to dance to the music being strung.

"C'mon, Fili! Kili!" she then urged, skipping and spinning, her practiced hobbit feet never betraying her balance once. She neared them, shocked and still sitting, reaching for their hands in open invitation. "How can you sit?

Kili was the first to respond, "How can _you _dance?"

But to that, Billa only laughed. "Oh, _please. _Tell me dwarves are not so incompetent as not to know how to do something as simple as _dancing_."

Kili spluttered as Fili picked up where his brother couldn't. "It's not _that_, we're just…not made for it."

"Yeah, look at us!" Kili nodded in agreement. "We're thick and lumbering. Good for battle. Strong arms, stump legs. Not good for dancing."

Billa snorted, looking at them with wild amusement and disbelief. "You know, there's not much difference. Dancing requires good footwork just like your swordfights do, and as far as I see, you two are perfectly capable of _that_. Now, come; you're just making excuses. Just pretend like your fighting—but without the swords!" And with that, she yanked very hard on their hands, which encouraged them to groaningly stand.

But it had begun. Just that alone changed the atmosphere of the entire amphitheater as people watched, shocked, that their princes were taking pointers and following leadership on dancing, pointing their toes and skipping and clasping each other's arms and spinning—and all from a _hobbit_.

Billa didn't seem to notice, hopping and skipping and twirling as she was around them, but Kili and Fili did.

"Is she always this unorthodox? I swear, everything she does gathers a crowd…" Fili muttered, leaning close to his brother as they followed her lead.

Kili shrugged, and couldn't repress his grin. "Yeah—think it's a good or a bad thing?"

Fili grinned back as Billa, miracle of miracles, began to drag other curious little dwarf children to the stone ground in front of the stage and lead them in a dance as well, teaching them to clap their hands and skip and kick as she was—all, of course, at the however-reluctant smiles and given permissions of their mystified parents. "As of yet, I'm not sure. But I find I'm not inclined to agree with the latter. You?"

Kili smiled his agreement. "Aye. Me neither."

And so they danced on. On and on, until there were more dwarves, couples and adults, joining them in lines and circles, spinning and linking arms and laughing and shouting, clapping and cheering and skipping all around. One little dwarfling, even, who had been sitting on the sidelines by his lonesome and could not dance on his own due to his lame legs, did not go unnoticed by Billa. To the amazement of the brothers and her attendant watching her from far away, the hobbit swept him up as best she could (young as he was, he still came up to her hip) and danced with him in her arms, spinning and inviting him to join in the cheering like everyone else.

It was incredible the crowd they had gathered, spinning and enjoying the music in ways that dwarves simply hadn't before.

And Dis, watching from a distance, wasn't sure what to think of it at all. Her first instinct was to roll her eyes and accuse the hobbit of forcing the dwarves into something different of their culture—into overrunning what was meant to be a perfectly good dwarven performance and turning it into a hobbit-like celebration, which was not what it was supposed to be.

But then she saw Billa pick up the paraplegic dwarfling and dance with him, bringing him into the on-goings as if he was meant to be there all along, and she lost her words.

It had struck something deep within Dis—sharp and resonant—and for the first time, she realized that perhaps the hobbit _wasn't _putting on an act of kindness or meek submission just to win the competition. To see her dance with the other dwarves so joyfully and freely, no money spent, no hesitance in her sharing of this happiness, her arms encumbered with a child not of her own race all to make him enjoy the dancing as well—perhaps that sort of contagious…glory was just _her_. This dancing, this fun—maybe it wasn't so poisonous after all.

It was strange, the sort of effect this hobbit was beginning to have on everyone. Part of her had known that something like this would happen, and had wanted to act primly in order to stop it from the start.

But watching the effect now begin to play out, an inkling in the back of her mind began to quietly gain a voice, whispering for the first time since this entire process began, _Maybe it shouldn't be stopped. Maybe it should be encouraged._

_Maybe all this kingdom really does need is just a little hobbit._

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **"...You can't stare down the inevitable/It's like the sun./I fought the la.../...and the la won."

I find that song rather appropriate for this chapter. x3 It's "I Fought the La..." by the Newsboys. Also, another handy song to listen to to get in the groovy-groove for all the dancing is "Lord of the Dance." Very peppy, very Celtic, and very-much makes you want to get out of your seat and do a little jig.

So how's this? 8D A bit of an earlier update than normal, eh? And Dis is beginning to turn around! Very slowly, but the seeds have been planted, I'd say! Yay?

Enjoy! 8D I _very much_ hope you enjoy! You've all been spectacular and I can't believe I already have so many more reviews, follows, and favorites! Honestly, I'm speechless! ;A; Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have me so at your mercy! ;A;

Have a wonderful day!


	9. Here's Where I Need You

Day 2, while spent its majority in the marketplace of the dwarves, finished itself on the road towards Mount Gundabad. This, Billa was quite fine with, considering she was in no hurry to visit the orc realm at all next. Yet on Day 3, there they promptly arrived anyway, and into the hands of creatures that made little Billa very uncomfortable.

The hobbit herself couldn't help but sidle closer to Dis on the forward bench of their wagon as she lead their ponies into the mountainside settlement, where a majority of the orcs seemed to be. Wooden torches, unlit under the noonday sun, lined their path. (However, Billa found she wished they were still alight, considering the open-space, however open it was, still seemed to somehow not get enough sunshine like other villages; for some reason it was almost as if the sun was dimmed here, eclipsed by something grander and larger and darker.)

And unlike how it was at the Lonely Mountain, the orcs seemed to take notice of her as soon as she arrived, large, silent crowds of them backing up and parting the way for the two female's ride as they pulled through.

But it was their stares that unnerved Billa the most, however, gazing at her flesh as if she were prey. "…Dis…" she whispered.

"Yeah, I hear you, Halfling," came the muttered return. Billa was at least a little eased to know that she wasn't the only one feeling uncomfortable. Dis' hard silver eyes—much grayer than her brother Thorin's, which had a hinge of blue to them—darted from one orc to the other in clear warning. "You're not the only one. I actually happen to trust them even less than I trust you, you know."

Billa tensed sharply at the words, a pang ringing against her ribcage at them, but Dis must have felt it against her arm, because the next moment the she-dwarf glanced at her, her eyes softened to the slightest degree in something mysterious that the hobbit couldn't name.

(…regret…?)

Then, of course, the moment was ruined as she abruptly cleared her throat and readjusted herself on the forward seat. As if nothing had happened at all, she immediately resumed glaring at the orcs around them, hands tightening around the reins as she added, "It's just for an afternoon, anyway. We'll leave before nightfall."

Billa nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. That was the plan, anyway. Day 3's afternoon spent with the orcs, but leaving early in order to make it by Day 4's afternoon or early evening at the Shire. (_Home, home, home_.)

It would be the shortest amount of time spent at any of the civilizations' settlements, but Billa couldn't bring herself to care or mind.

"Miss Baggins—arrived at last."

At least, she _hoped _they would stick to the plan.

Swallowing, she turned to see which orc had called out her name as Dis simultaneously drew their cart to a halt. And although the tall, clearly-decorated-warrior who had spoken, stepping out from the crowd to approach with open arms in invitation somehow looked familiar, Billa couldn't remember if they'd ever met. She cleared her throat, at a clear loss. "P-pardon? I…I'm sorry, but I don't think we've met…?"

"We haven't," the org seemed amused, although Billa wasn't sure she'd call the stretching at the side of his mouth a clear smile. "But I certainly know you. I am Azog, Highest Commander of the Orc Army under King Thorin." To accompany this, the orc pounded a fist against his left collarbone twice—a dwarven sign of respect and peace that Billa found strange to see executed by one of so different a race. "Allow me, then, to be the first to welcome you to our humble home of Mount Gundabad."

The Highest Commander?

"Oh."

It was all she could say, as intimidated as she was.

* * *

Everything was going mildly pleasantly. At least, as pleasantly as possible while surrounded by coarse and grumpy orcs.

Of course, the orkish culture itself was something very strange and very alien and very rough, and Billa wasn't quite sure what to think of it, really. It was so _very _different from the way hobbits lived; so different from the way anyone Billa had ever known lived, that something deep inside her told her that these orcs were just not very happy people. Not, of course, because they lived differently, but they just didn't seem to know what genuine joy was. There were no celebrations, no songs, no music, no laughter.

All around her lied only swords, grunts, and betting.

And Billa wasn't quite sure how or where it happened, but all too soon in the midst of it all, during the personal tour conducted by Azog himself, she suddenly found herself alone.

They had just viewed most of the orc-ish weapons and leather, after having walked by a few stalls of orc jewelry. Rare and extremely valuable items, Azog had pointed them out, usually made of jade or emerald with onyx embracings and chains, although Billa had to admit they weren't very pretty and were rather crudely put together. Still, however, the jewelry was particularly important to the orc culture, considering that like the dwarves, less and less females were born each year, so in order to ensure claim to a particular she-orc (or he-orc, as the case may be), a gift of the ugly metal and stone was given.

"Like an engagement present?" Billa had asked, curious, before she stopped herself, reminded of a similar tradition in hobbit culture.

The orc's eyes had snapped to her, and he had nodded, that strange, amused look in his eye and features again. "Yes."

But that had been at least half-an-hour ago. Now, not quite sure where both Dis and Azog had gone, Billa was alone and frightened and not sure at all where to go or who it was safe to talk to. She fidgeted, hands and fingers twiddling with each other as she looked around for the two familiar faces in a sea of so many other, and much less kinder ones.

Until she suddenly found an orkish necklace dancing in front of her face.

Gasping, stepping back, she looked up to see an unfamiliar orc leering down at her with something close to curiosity. His voice was rough and gravelly as he spoke. "You liked the jewelry, no?"

Billa swallowed reflexively. No, she really hadn't. But she didn't say so aloud, preferring to shake her head as politely as possible. "Sorry, I, um…it hadn't caught my eye. Unfortunately. I'm afraid." She laughed a little nervously, trying to be as subtly dismissive as possible, but the orc grew took a step closer.

"Take it."

Wait, what?

"U-um…" Billa wanted to put her hands up in defense or a sign of warding, but for fear of having the thing forced into them, she kept them rather close, burying her fingers tightly in the folds of the pale cauliflower-blue dress she had worn today. "No, no thank you." Another hesitant laugh escaped her.

The orc's bros lowered. "I give it to you. Take it."

Something was wrong. Off, not right. This didn't make sense. Not at all. What was going on?

At a loss for words, Billa shook her head numbly, the smile slipping as a growing pit of dread opened up in her stomach. And as the hairs on the nape of her neck began to rise, standing on edge, she finally turned around.

A dagger.

Oh gosh, a dagger was _right there_—coming down for her—she didn't even have time to scream—

—then it was gone.

Billa couldn't feel anything.

A numb coldness overflowed her system and senses, dulling down her surroundings to a busy, buzzing roar that was kind of fuzzy and distant. She heard yelling nearby—someone was really, _really _angry—actually, there were several people very angry—and someone was holding tight to her arm.

But it was a very familiar person, because the next thing she knew, that someone was tugging her along and shouting behind her, "You better handle this, Azog, because I doubt you want my brother to hear what these two have almost done! We are _done _here!" And that was Dis—oh, that was Dis—but Billa had never heard her attendant this angry before, not even during that last day of sword-fighting practice.

And the hobbit tried to speak—she really did—but all that came out was an amalgamation of, "I'm sorry," and "What happened?" and "Dis?" and "Where are we going?" and "I—I can't feel my feet—slow down—"

But then, they must have reached their cart, because the next thing Billa knew, she was practically thrown onto the forward bench before Dis joined her and immediately grabbed the reins, slapping the horses into a gallop as they sped away from Mount Gundabad—for what Billa hoped was the last time that she would ever have to set foot there.

* * *

Azog crumbled the letter in his hand, not caring that it was sent from his son—actually, very much caring about that, now that he thought of it, because that meant he was at the heart of this—but deciding that his anger was too righteous at this moment to worry about that imbecile, because the fact remained that both Bolg and these two idiots were going to have to be _severely _reprimanded.

"_This_," he speaks in their native tongue to them, so they understand the gravity of this situation. "_This _is what you give me as an _excuse _for your actions?"

Bigthan, the slightly broader one, grit his teeth but kept his head bowed as he utters, "We would not have killed her. She turned around at the wrong moment. The dagger was only to use in defense, as a prop, when we proclaimed her a thief—"

"—_I do not care_," Azog seethed, low and dangerous. "Your very _motivation _was what was misguided. Never mind your _intentions_."

That grabbed Teresh's attention, the one who had dangled the gem in front of the hobbit, and fighting the urge to raise his head, the younger orc cried, "But Bolg himself requested action. We just needed to take the hobbit off of the scene—"

"—I _know _what my idiot of a son desires! I read his letter!" The roar was loud, and silencing, and paralyzed, the two younger—_foolish_—orcs listened as Azog added a bit more quietly, a bit more threateningly, "And I will _deal _with him later, but you two should have at least had some _common sense. _You all act as if by winning the first competition, the hobbit has already won! What _fools _I have within _my own race_!" His panting breath was hot and racing with livid anger. "I expected _better _of you. If actions like this continue, that weak little hobbit _will _win because we will have _put her there." _A breath, a pause. "But as of now, she has no chance of winning—and I will _not _allow us to be caught sabotaging her. If we are, then we have dug for ourselves our own _graves_! _Do you understand_?"

The two orcs instantly groveled a low, more timid, "Yes," that did not appease the raging beast still caught pacing within Azog's chest.

Still. He did not give them closure; did not utter to them "good." He merely tromped away.

After all, he still had a son to reprimand—and with him, although he was prideful of Bolg's success so far in the competition, Azog knew that with his son lied most of the blame for this humiliating incident.

It would not go unnoticed.

* * *

"…Dis…?"

"Shut up, Halfling."

The hobbit instinctively scrunched closer into the furs that her attendant had given her in order to warm body her up and to return it from its previously-in-shock state. She also watched with tightly-pressed lips as the she-dwarf busied on the ground to build a campfire that would warm them up through most of the night, but repressed the urge to try asking again whether or not the dwarf would like some help. Apparently, the request was not even needed.

"And don't apologize, either," came the rough addition, as if sensing subsequent Billa's train of thoughts.

Billa ducked her chin meekly to her drawn-up knees, feeling the fur tickle her jaw. Yet, she sighed. Without an apology—what else was there to say? It wasn't as if her and Dis had ever been able to make even a half-decent conversation of the weather, much less anything else. Talking with Dis…was very hard. And even harder now, after what had happened at Mount Gundabad. (Which Billa _still _wanted to apologize for, although even she didn't know why.)

When at last a fire sparked and caught on the wood, Dis finally sat down and huddled herself among her own furs and blankets. Billa watched from the other side of the fire as her attendant studied the flames and let a silence stretch between them until at last she found something else to say.

"Dis…why did they—?"

"Don't tell me you forgot exactly _who _you 'defeated' within the arena last week…?"

Right.

Billa swallowed, and let her eyes droop from the fire to her fur-covered knees. "Well, I…" But no, that wasn't right. What she really wanted to say… "…thank you, Dis."

Dis' eyes snapped up and met Billa's blues with a slight amount of surprise behind her grey hues. "What," she finally scoffed, lowering her eyes back to the fire so that the red tinges darkened her face. "For saving your life?"

The way the dwarf said it was as if it was something miniscule, small and insignificant, but Billa felt a small smile curve the corner of her lips up anyway. "Yes. _And_ for getting us out of there."

"…did you not think I would?" came the curious question a moment later, soft and low, barely heard over the crickling and crackling of the sparking flames and logs, but Billa understood it anyway. And the hobbit bowed her head again, breathing through soft furs as she considered the question as honestly as she could.

She swallowed as she eventually found her answer. "…I had hoped you would. You are not heartless. And I know we have not…been on such kind terms so far in our friendship, but I had—"

"—our friendship?"

Oh.

Billa looked up, startled, thinking perhaps she had spoken too soon, or out-of-line, perhaps misjudging what they had. But there was a strange look in Dis' eye as she didn't meet Billa's gaze, steel eyes remaining lodged on the fire between them—a look that made the hobbit soften confusedly, even as the dwarf added, "Is that what you'd call us? Friends?"

And at that, Billa smiled softly, even as she finally decided to lay down and snuggle into her covers that Dis had already laid down for her while setting up their camp for the night. "I think so," she then murmured shyly, feeling soft and warm both inside and out.

Dis opened her mouth to question why—but decided against it, stuffing and locking the question deep within her throat for another time—one perhaps more appropriate for it, when she wasn't feeling so…so strange and heavy inside. Instead, Dis sat there, mystified and curious, as the hobbit more and more gradually relaxed and loosened herself until she finally heard the soft, even and deep breaths of slumber.

Friends. Right.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **_"Affection and love don't come to other races as easily as it does to hobbits, some rumor… Humans come close, but even small disagreements tear them apart. What I like about your people, Miss Baggins, is that hobbits are delightfully optimistic creatures. They tend to think the best of others, even when under great duress." – _Gandalf, ch. 2

Just thought I'd…quote that. 8D Because so many people so far have been like, "Why does Billa trust Dis?" and "Dis so mean!" and "Billa gain confidence!" And while these are all perfectly good responses (perfectly, perfectly good), we must remember that Billa's a hobbit. :3 And if there's one thing that hobbits do best besides staying out of trouble and leading comfortable lives, it's loving.

(…at least, in my headcanon.)

I hope you've all enjoyed another chapter! 8D You're all so stunningly spectacular, I honestly don't know what to say! ;A; 84 reviews, guys! 84 reviews! That's just…incredible! ;A;

You're my shining stars. ;A; Of epic proportions!

ALSO ALSO—Aisukuri-Mu Studio now has a tumblr! 83 LIKE YEAH! Omigoodness! So, should you have any requests, suggestions, questions or opinions, don't be afraid to follow the link on our page to the tumblr in order to ask us/tell us something!

And of course, please review here as well if you should feel so led. 8D I welcome questions, suggestions, concerns or requests with open arms both here and there and back again! (Oh, references…)

(Speaking of references, anyone catch the Teresh and Bigthan reference? This won't be the last we see them, hee hee!)

Thanks very much, you guys! ;A; Enjoy, and have a wonderful day!


	10. Here's My Promise

The time spent in the Shire passed by too quickly for Billa.

It felt like she had only just—_finally—_been welcomed back and embraced by her hobbit friends and family, celebrating and dancing and feasting among them like she had never truly done before, as a hobbit who typically kept to herself—before it was suddenly and abruptly—_too soon, too soon_—time to leave.

It all just…flew by, swept through her fingers. Wisped away.

And Billa wished the night would have lumbered by slower; that the stars wouldn't have flickered as quickly, that the clocks would have slowed down, the sun wouldn't have risen so fast, and breakfast and elevenses wouldn't have been such quick, delicious affairs.

But before she knew it, she found herself at the entrance to the Shire once more, Dis and the cart behind her as she held the hands of the dear companions who had helped set her on this journey in the first place. Freya, Himie, and Nona all gazed at her with watery smiles and gave as strong blessings of hope for her journey and competition as they could. They were all incredibly proud of her, they said. "And who would have thought that a little hobbit from the Shire could have caught and held the eye of the King Under the Mountain for so long?"

Billa flushed at their giggles, shaking her head, begging herself not to let tears fall because this _wasn't _good-bye. Not for forever, no matter _what _would happen. "Oh…you guys…it truly isn't—it's not anything I have done…"

"Nonsense," Freya was quick to reprimand. "It's been _everything _you've done. "

Himie nodded quickly as Nona added, "And it's only been barely two weeks, but already so much has happened! You've done so much! Oh, I can't believe all your stories—you have been so brave!"

Oh…has she? Billa couldn't remember ever feeling very brave.

Himie then chimed in almost scoldingly, "But you simply _must _take care of yourself better. I don't know how much sunshine they get while under the mountain, but a lady-hobbit needs her fresh air! So don't be afraid to step out once in a while, all right?"

Billa nodded as best she could, but Freya was already speaking up, too, with more advice and more words spoken with huge intention—very much begging their unexpected hobbit friend to listen and heed them. "And _don't _let anyone think your hobbit-qualities are something you should stuff away. Eat as much as your little hobbit-heart desires, and dance as often as you please. Never forget who and what you are, Billa, because it's a spectacular gift—being a hobbit, that is. Not everyone is so fortunate." She winked.

The hobbit smiled and nodded tentatively, squeezing their hands in turn. "Right. You're…you're quite right, Freya. I shall try not to forget."

And Billa endeavored in her heart to truly, truly mean that.

* * *

"You haven't bought anything yet." Dis tried to keep her tone conversational, light, detached as they rumbled along the trail to Esgaroth. Truly, the matter didn't even concern her—and really, she didn't even care—but something in her wanted to talk about it anyway, despite that all. "Have you forgotten that the king's been nice enough to give you a portion of his gold in order for you to _spend it_?"

Billa frowned thoughtfully, pressing her lips together as she tilted her face to the green forest canopy above them. "No…I haven't forgotten. I just…haven't found any good thing to spend it on, I suppose."

Dis humphed shortly. "Stingy hobbit. You didn't even want to buy something from home?"

To that, Billa smiled. "Nah," she muttered, entirely warm inside. Her head bowed towards her chest as she held the small cloth bag in her hands a little bit tighter, treasuring it all the more. "There wasn't a need. My friends gave me a perfectly good gift to remember home by, so I could leave happy enough."

The she-dwarf raised her eyebrow, steel eyes dancing downward to see the very same mysterious bag that made her charge so gleeful. "Ah…so what did they give you?"

Excitement bubbling in her chest, Billa's smile grew as her fingers deftly loosened the string around the sack enough to allow sunlight inside to illuminate the contents. "Seeds!" she crowed, so awed and delighted, eyes shining as she picked out one and held it in her hand for the she-dwarf to see it better. "They gave me seeds to grow my very own crepe myrtle tree, Dis! Isn't it wonderful?"

It seemed absolutely weird, and Dis said so, scrunching up her nose and resuming her forward watch.

"…that's weird."

Billa only laughed. "Perhaps to dwarves, it is," she conceded, returning the seed to the bag and pulling it closed. "But to hobbits, seeds are very special. Seed-giving is like wishing good fortune upon someone. You usually…ah…" The hobbit flushed, but continued, "…well, you give it usually under special circumstances, but…"

"…like marriage?" Dis' voice couldn't help but be amused, even as she tried not to be.

The hobbit beside her squawked and didn't seem to notice, so that made it worth it. Billa, with her face red, quickly tried to remedy the situation. "W-well, it can also be given just out of pure kindness! It isn't always…marriage!"

Still, the _Although it usually _is, hung in the awkward silence-balance, and sighing, giving up, Billa continued softly, still so pleased inside, "But when you give a seed…it just…means so much, you know?" No, Dis didn't, but she listened anyway. "You're telling that person that you hope their roots will grow strong, and that their branches will be many. That there will be fruit in their life, and they'll always reach higher, with the sun ever shining upon their brow." She smiled, holding the seeds even closer to her chest as if it were the most precious gift she'd been given in a long time.

(Dis would probably bet that that was the case.)

"It's…very nice of them," Billa murmured.

The she-dwarf pressed her lips together, allowing the silence between them to stretch and blanket before she asked, "That's just…odd. What, does the fact it's a myrtle tree have some significance, too?"

But despite being offended at her attendant's tone, Billa merely smiled and shrugged, letting her hands and the bag drift to her lap. "I don't know yet—it all depends on what I make of it. All I know is that I've been given a myrtle tree, and it's up to me to give it its meaning by my very life. So we'll just have to see."

Dis humphed again, but decided that was probably all the answer she was going to get. "You do realize that you could leave for home in two days. No matter the sentiment, it's a stupid gift. There's no time to plant and grow a tree; no guarantee that you'll even find a place to plant it and let it grow. Sunshine doesn't always make it under the mountain, you know. It_ will_ wither and die, no matter what you do or try."

Was it strange that suddenly Billa felt saddened by that? First, that she might…not get to stay? That she might be asked to leave, to go home, and never…ever get the chance to plant her little myrtle tree there?

For all Billa knew—and hoped for—it could have possibly been the first tree ever planted under the mountain. But her gut knew Dis was right: what if it wouldn't even make it? What if circumstances would kill it before it could know happiness and light and warmth and water? Before she could show it love?

The hobbit swallowed, shrugging, her head bowed again. Her fingers toyed idly with the string of the sack as she considered her (quite lonely) options. (For a hobbit never liked to grow a garden alone. It was meant to be a partnered event. It was meant for a family; at least for two. It was meant to commemorate a shared life.) "…well…I suppose…if it comes to that, I could…just plant it at back at home. It wouldn't be the end of the world…" _…watching it grow by myself._

However, if she was being very honest, just the thought of that—growing her little myrtle tree alone—did feel quite like it. The end of the world, that is.

(…yet why…?)

* * *

Thorin paced.

Anger was a feeling he knew quite well. Actually, they were on a familiar, first-name basis. He was used to its presence, its heavy, fiery thickness in his chest and shoulders.

But he wasn't very much used to feeling anger _for _someone else.

Balin had said that it didn't make sense to send a letter to check and see how the hobbit was fairing. Not then. He would just have to wait, by this point; just have to see. "She will be here soon enough. Just one more day. Then you can make sure she has not been harmed, all right? Wait a day more."

(Although his advisor and old friend was quick to remind him of the logic that if she was still travelling, then that must have meant she was relatively unscathed by it all.)

Still.

That did not appease the unhappy beast within his ribcage, still growling and mumbling, sour about how two orkish idiots had been so foolish enough to have tried to attack one of his own suitors. He was glad Azog had been there, glad his trusted Commander had taken care of the issue. If he hadn't…ugh, if he hadn't…

Thorin rubbed his face with his hands quickly.

He needed to stop these thoughts. They weren't productive, they weren't helping anyone; they were tiring, honestly. And they were annoying.

Who cared about the hobbit, anyway? Wasn't King Thorin done with love?

He was. Yes. He was.

They had shared just one dinner, and had barely talked since then. She had no more contact with him than any of the other suitors did; in fact, perhaps even less, considering she had walked out on the one night that fate had chanced them to sit beside each other at the regular dining table. Yet still her image nagged at him, her smile and warm eyes staining his eyelids as if he had looked at the sun too long.

Strange. Just…strange.

The king was done with love. He wasn't expecting more; he wasn't expecting to find his One.

(He wasn't. Honestly. He wasn't.)

…yet why did his heart still thrum with anticipation as if it were?

* * *

The Big People of Esgaroth, Billa was quickly finding, were pretty interesting and strange.

Especially the Master.

After all, the man—twice her size! Even taller than Dis!—didn't seem to want to leave her side even for a second. Maxwell, she learned his name was, seemed to deem it—much like Azog had—that he would be her personal tour guide and aid while "the possible future queen of Erebor walked among us."

(Although she was sure his intentions were anything but simple courteousness. From the way he kept rubbing his hands together, she had an inkling that he was expecting at least something that glittered in return.)

So it was with relief, then, when some of the other Big People called out to her, shouting, "Hey! Little Person—Miss Baggins, is it?" and "Hey, Maxwell—would you mind if we borrowed her for a bit?" and "Oh! It's _the _Miss Baggins!" as well as, "We _so _got to talk about last week! The arena!" all for her and the Master's attention.

Turning around to view the men—there were four of them in total—all dressed like hunters, with bows and quivers wrapped around their backs and daggers on their belts—she smiled at them as warmly and un-nervously as she could. After travelling with the she-dwarf all week, she felt unexpectedly vulnerable without her attendant there beside her—however, the dwarf had muttered to her ear earlier that she couldn't take the "amount of dumb and annoying" that was rolling off the current Master of Lake-Town anymore, so she went to go "grab some lunch."

It was all fine, really, except now it left Billa surrounded by five Big People who were at most, twice her height. "Hello, Big People. How might I help you?"

"'Help?' That's the first thing you ask? Ha-ha, you're cute…" one of the men muttered, chuckling.

The one directly in front of her put out his hand for her—the Big People welcoming gesture—a hand-shake, if Billa remembered properly, which she quickly performed—as he uttered, "My name is Bard." To whom, Billa nodded amicably. "These are my fellow huntsmen, and we had been wondering—"

"—Billa? Billa Baggins?"

The hobbit blinked at her name being called yet again, and turned around from the Big People in front of her, only to be met with a large pale hand smacking the side of her face with enough force to knock her off her feet and down to the wooden-road, her hip and elbow crying out with abrupt, yelling and bruising pain at the unexpected fall that turned the world on its side.

_Ow—oh—that—that hurt—what happened?_

Billa winced, blinking away instinctive red, messy tears as a trembling feminine voice above her shouted above the silence of shock all around, "_You're _Billa Baggins? _You're _the little hobbit from the Shire?"

Gasping, still trying to blink away the wet blur that clouded her sight, Billa pushed herself to a sitting position, looking up at the blonde human woman who had just slapped her. She was…oh. Well. The woman in particular was very pretty. Suddenly and immediately, Billa felt very self-conscious in the presence of such extraordinary curves and angles, with wavy golden hair over her shoulder that glistened like polished gold.

Yet with the help of Bard who had gently taken hold of her arm, Billa stood and looked back at the woman curiously, cheek still stinging. She winced as she tried to speak. "Y…yes…? I—I'm sorry, have we—?"

"No. No we haven't met," the woman uttered, angry—wet?—fury blazing in her green eyes. "But I just wanted you to know that I think you're ugly."

Wait, what?

The comment was so startling, Billa couldn't find herself to be offended by it. At all. She only stared.

"You're uglier than I thought—and I simply can't understand _why _he chose you—_why _he thought you might have been a better match for him than me—and I _hate you._"

Oh.

That's what she…oh.

Bard tried to speak, "Melody—"

"—no." The woman's voice broke, and beyond the pain that swelled tight and thick in her chest, Billa felt for her. Oh, had…had she really hurt her so much just by being chosen? How could she help…? How to make it better?

Looking down, the hobbit caught sight of an overturned basket with items from the several of the stalls in the Lake-Town market—all spilled over as if it had been suddenly dropped—and she leaned down to pick them up for the woman. She froze, however, as if touched with scalding fever-ice when the basket was then snatched away, held tightly and desperately by two pale, larger, white-knuckled hands. "_No. _Don't touch my things. You've already stolen _enough_ from me!"

She did? Oh…what did she…? "What…I—I'm terribly sorry—what…what have I—?"

"—_it was supposed to feed my family._" The woman clutched the arm of the basket close, hugging it to her chest as tears suddenly stripped down those heated, flustered cheeks. And oh—oh no—nobody was supposed to _cry _because of her; she was just a harmless hobbit— "You—you have _no _idea how much I needed…how much it would have helped…my…my brothers…"

Oh.

_Oh, and look at me. Look at me, compared to her tears—I hadn't even _wanted _to be here, yet the young woman who needed it most isn't. Is that fate's cruel hand? What can I say to her? What should I say? How do I comfort a woman who needs to be me more than I do?_

Billa paused, waiting, watching as the woman shook and cried, the stunned crowd witnessing and listening to her sorrow with nothing to say.

But slowly—ever so slowly—the hobbit tentatively reached forward and gently pried the basket from the woman's fingers, gathering up the dropped belongings to put inside it with tender care as she murmured, "...if it is any consolation—"

"—it isn't," came the sharp, harsh interjection.

The hobbit swallowed, but continued as softly as possible. "Well, even if it is not any consolation…" An amused smile tickled the corners of her lips, but she fought the urge. "…I actually think I'm ugly, too."

The woman—Melody—hitched in her crying.

Billa knelt before her in the quiet, trying to ignore the crowd as they shifted, whispered to one another, but remained still in order to continue witnessing the goings-on. "Actually, I've never thought I was very pretty—but I've never really minded. So I can't…I honestly can't say why the king has chosen me to still remain. He just has. It's certainly not because I'm beautiful—women like you are a reminder to me of that everyday." The corner of her mouth twitched. "You're gorgeous, you know."

There was a sliver of green eyes finally peeking at her, curiosity and pain interwoven in their depths, and with a small smile, Billa glanced behind her at Bard and his fellow huntsmen as she added, "I'm also not very good at sword-fighting. Actually, I rather stink. I'm possibly the worst swords-woman Middle-Earth has ever seen…yet somehow, by very obviously nothing of my own doing other than a stupid, reckless charge, I'm still here."

Billa then put the last of the objects in the basket. The crowd was utterly quiet; no one made a move; no one made a sound. The hobbit kept her head down as she spoke, "So I do not claim to be the best of any of you, nor do I claim to be the most qualified of any other to be queen. I am—at most—and will forever be—just a simple, and very, very ordinary hobbit."

A gentle, tired sigh escaped her, and Billa looked at her hands gripping the basket. "It's all I've ever been, and it's all I could ever hope to be. So I…I certainly don't _deserve _to be queen." The corner of her mouth twitched upward self-deprecatingly. "Neither will I promise or boast that I somehow should be."

The belongings re-gathered, Billa gently took one of the woman's hands again and wrapped it around the handle of the basket, holding with both hands it there as she added, "But I can honestly tell _you _this truth—Melody?—Melody—and it is worth far more than any crown, so you best not forget it: if I am someday so blessed as to be queen, then I will make _sure _you never go hungry again. Neither you, nor your brothers, nor anyone else in Erebor." She tightened her grip as she murmured,_ "_Never again will you think that you have to use your beauty in order to gain food or wealth, like it is an asset you can trade. You are worth _so much more _than that."

"But I'm not…I'm not…_pretty…_not if the king—"

"—what do kings know?" Billa scoffed, almost snorting, while she smiled as encouragingly as she could to the uncertain, cloudy green eyes. "I mean, really. This one's actually considering a _hobbit _for _queen. _Rather dim-witted, if you ask me."

She waited for the chuckles of the crowd to die down until she continued on a far more somber note, "But you—you're beautiful, Melody. In all honesty, I cannot compare. But if I can somehow be considered for queen without your bewitching looks, then you, too, can somehow manage for your family without resorting to selling yourself."

Billa paused, watching and listening as the sniffling slowly subsided. "All right?"

No response.

"Are—"

But the basket was suddenly yanked away. Melody jerked from Billa's touches as she stood and immediately stomped away, muttering over her shoulder about, "Whatever—doesn't know anything—" and leaving as briskly as she could.

And Billa, at a loss, could only kneel there for a moment more, guilt coiling in her stomach again. She didn't move for a while, not until she felt Dis at her side once more, pulling her to her feet and gently leading her away from the crowd. The hobbit followed her attendant's lead, smiling weakly at the people who waved in trepidation—awe?—at her, thinking about Melody more than she thought she would. The woman who had once broken down and cried—a woman who she had not even known until ten minutes ago—but who's life was suffering clearly and painfully because of her.

How long had she lived like that? Impoverished? Hungry? Desperate? How long, and Billa had never known—had never thought—not ever, not while tucked within her cozy home of Bag End. Not ever while she was even still a guest at the palace—it made her suddenly wonder how big the world _was_, and how many more people were in Melody's shoes, too—and she had never known—

"—I think the Master saw what you did with the money. That's my guess as to why he retreated."

Billa swallowed as she was helped back up to the cart, taking her seat at Dis' side as the she-dwarf lead the horses into a calmer walk away from Esgaroth. "So did you, apparently."

Dis grunted.

Billa squirmed. "Do you think…do you think I did the right thing, Dis? Giving her all of what King Thorin gave me?"

"I don't know, Halfling," came the muttered response, detached, distant…and yet somehow, troubled. "That's for you to find out when you come before the king with nothing to show for him from your travels except for a bright red cheek and a sobbing young woman. It's not _my _problem. Just yours."

The hobbit sighed, nodding. "Right…right…"

Dis grunted again, but more quietly this time. Neither spoke for a long while.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Woo! 8D This one's...by far the longest chapter yet. I don't have a particular reason why it is, other than the fact that I couldn't end it anywhere at the normal place, and decided to keep more rather than less in this segment.

(...guys I'm so close to 100 reviews! ;A; Zomgoodness! I just! I can't!)

Love you guys. ;A; Far more than you know.

Enjoy! And have a blessed, blessed day! (hug hug kiss kiss)


	11. Here's What I've Done

When Billa first arrived back at the palace, stepping foot once more into the grand, marble halls of the Lonely Mountain—she certainly didn't expect for her first welcomer to be the _king. _

Nonetheless, a very _angry _king.

Her last thought was that she somehow wished Dis were there at her side to temper her brother's anger—but somehow, she wasn't surprised that Dis was once again gone from her side, having left to take the horses and cart back to the stalls as well as lug their baggage to their room (an unexpected kindness that did not escape from Billa's notice).

Yet all the same, Billa froze there in quiet horror as the mountain-of-a-king marched up to her—Balin and Bofur right behind him, both crying out, "_Thorin! Be nice!"_ and other such abstract commands that clearly bounced off the dwarf's shoulders—because next thing the hobbit knew, her arm was being grabbed and she was being led away (or, more so, _dragged _away) by the king into a whole other empty side-chamber that looked more like a closet.

Her frightened eyes locked once with Bofur's blues, yet at her uncertain gaze, he just shrugged and smiled apologetically.

(As if _that _was supposed to somehow make this entire strange matter better.)

But then the door was closed, and they were alone, and Billa had barely turned to the king before her chin was harshly grabbed and forced to the side.

"No one told me those orcs had _hit _you."

The growl was so low, Billa was surprised he could even form words with it.

Blind-sided for a moment, grasping for what instance he was talking of—because although those two had tried to kill her, she didn't remember them actually laying a _hand _on her—Billa was at a loss for an answer until finally, two-and-two added themselves together in her head. "Oh. No—no," and laughingly, she corrected, "That wasn't the orcs. That happened just yesterday."

Silence.

Then the king's grip on her jaw tightened considerably. "_Yesterday?_"

But at the fresh pain of his fingers and the rings on them digging into her skin, Billa winced and gasped. "Yes—_yesterday_—n-now please…would you let go of me…?"

"Who? Who hit you?" Thorin asked, clearly threatening, but at the moment, Billa couldn't feel very afraid for Melody. Not while her face was still being jammed and pressed by a hand large enough to cover her face.

So she instinctively struggled within the hold. "This—this girl—"

"—human? A woman? At Lake-Town—?"

"—Yes—"

"—why? What was her name?"

Billa struggled even harder, but at the moment, she couldn't very much get free, and something in her little hobbit chest bucked around wildly at that thought, full of fear that she was _caught _and _held _and in _danger_ (even if it was an irrational thought, because Thorin wouldn't intentionally harm her; she knew). "I-I'll tell you—and truthfully, I will—but first, would you _please let go of me_?"

After a slight moment's pause into the startled quiet that followed afterward, she added, a bit more softly, "…you're hurting me…"

The hand silently jerked away as if burned, and Thorin seemed to lose his footing.

But Billa slowly turned to him, and after properly being able to see him, now that he wasn't forcing her gaze to the wall, something in her softened at his reaction to his momentary lapse of control. So she obliged, answering him quietly, "Her name is Melody—and no, before you even think about it, do _not _go after her. She's…she's not guilty of anything, truly—"

"—she _hit _you—" Thorin growled, coming back to himself.

"—yes." Billa saw no reason to lie about that, but held the king's gaze pointedly as she added, "But for what it's worth, I…deserved it."

The dwarf gave her a highly skeptical look at that, and Billa couldn't help but flush under it. "What—don't—d-don't _give _me that look. Honestly, I did. She…she was crying because of me. And she was angry." And yet, the more she spoke, suddenly, the more amused Thorin appeared to be. Startled at that unexpected emotion, the hobbit couldn't stop herself from babbling. "So she slapped me. It's not…it's not something uncommon. You know. When a woman's angry, she slaps people. End of story."

Shrugging, Billa looked away and was highly surprised to hear when the king then actually _chuckled._

And it started out quiet, as a mere little toss of humor, but then it grew. Somehow, the more he laughed, the more it seemed to bubble out of his stomach until he was laughing out loud so strongly and boisterously, spinning away from her and facing the other wall with his head tilted to the ceiling.

The red became a searing, scorching heat upon her face and Billa, at a loss, crossed her arms over her chest and tried not to look at him. What—he was _laughing _at her? Why? "W-what's so funny?"

"I—you are the _strangest _creature I have ever met." Really? What? She was? He had clearly never gotten out much as king, then, Billa couldn't help but think. "_Tell_ me all the other hobbits aren't quite as unintentionally troublesome as you are."

The word made the hobbit's head snap up in surprise at the king. "'T-troublesome?'" she echoed, a tad insulted.

"_Yes_!" King Thorin looked at her once more, mirth glittering his grey-blue eyes and Billa, although wanting to be angry at declaring she was somehow _troublesome, _couldn't find it in her being to glare at him under such a fond gaze. "First I hear that two orcs have attempted to take your life, and then when you return, I find your cheek is bruised—so of course, I fear the _worst_—" –oh. Now that Billa thought about it, that did seem rather bad; as if she had been beaten up rather than just left unharmed by her would-be assassins— "—but then I find that actually, you were hurt just from a cat-fight?"

The term was strange. Billa was certain she had only heard it once before, and that was in Esgaroth. But she still didn't like how it sounded, so she screeched at him, "Cat-fight? That poor woman was incredibly angry at me, Thorin! And she was crying!" But the dwarf merely laughed harder. "I—I don't find that amusing! I actually caused her suffering!"

Thorin let his amusement die down a bit before he dared ask, "Oh? And I supposed you tried to give her something to make it better? Sounds just like you—"

And struck by a sudden daring, Billa straightened her spine and confided, "—yes. I did. Actually, I honestly did. And I'll have you know, I gave her every gold coin you loaned me. Every last _cent. _She needed it, anyway."

Then, as if a switch had been struck, Thorin's face suddenly darkened, and all the delightful mirth from before was gone. "_All _of it…?" he asked quietly, dangerously.

"Y-yes." The violent mood change shook something deep within Billa, but she held her ground. "Why?"

Or at least, tried to. Especially when the king began to get angry once more. "You gave some ordinary woman _all _of the gold I gave you?" He took a step forward and Billa took a step back, arms reaching out behind her to find the wall. "So what? What pitiful sob-story did that poor human girl give you to win your sympathy?"

"S-sob-story?" Now Billa was appalled. Strengthened by it, she straightened herself and glared right back at the king. "Now listen here, _King _Thorin—that was _no _'sob-story.' She was _suffering_—"

"—people _do _that, Halfling," came the angry answer.

"W-well, yes, but—"

"—oh—but wait—I forgot I who I was talking to. Maybe a hobbit never _knew _a thing like suffering existed—that people could be _sad_, could be _hungry_, and could _hurt—_all tucked up as you were in your cozy home back at the Shire—"

"—fine!" Billa blinked back hurt tears because _gosh_; it was one thing to know that herself; it was an entire other thing to hear someone else say it—and so accusingly, too. "So what if I _hadn't _known what suffering was like before? That didn't—that doesn't mean I couldn't see it in her face; in her eyes and in her tears—and understand it and hear it in her _voice_—"

"—so a woman cries and you give her money to appease her. _That's _how you're going to save the world?"

"No!" _Far—far from it._ Billa took a step forward this time, glaring right in the king's eyes as she breathed back at him, "I gave her what she _needed. _That kind of thing's called _loving, _Thorin. _That's _how I'd go about saving the world. And I will _not regret my actions._"

Silence.

Pure, utter silence, only staccato'd by the fevered panting on each side.

And it took just a second too long for both to realize how close they were to one another at that moment. Nose-to-nose, face tilted up, face angled down, angered breath mixing and intermingling between the small gap between parted lips.

It was also at that moment that Billa caught the sight of the crown upon Thorin's brow—and instantly, her entire being washed with cold, chilling remembrance.

Oh.

That's right.

…he _was_ a king, wasn't he?

_Oh gosh, I just argued with the king. I just yelled at him. I just stood up to him. Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh…_

And without another word—blushing ferociously—Billa suddenly pushed away and fled, ignoring everything in her body that screamed, _But you could hardly remember it, could you? It didn't even cross your mind that he was a king, and that it was strange to be talking to him so, or even how it was odd that he should be worried for you. Speaking to him was as easy as speaking to a life-long friend; you even fought with him as if you've known him since childhood._

_It's like you've known him forever._

It was strange—it was exhilarating—it was horrifying—it was delightful.

And Billa, as she dived under her covers within the sanctuary of her own room, tried to blame the bucking of her own heart on the adrenaline that was still thudding through her thanks to her mad-dash for her bedroom.

(She had a feeling, however, that it was anything _but _adrenaline. More so…anticipation.)

Yet what had it been expecting?

* * *

_What _was _that?_

Thorin couldn't speak. His spine…oh, by Mahal, every _inch_ of him was vibrating, tingling with desire and anger and joy and confusion all at once in a bafflement of high's and low's of emotion.

And all from a little _hobbit._

_She called me by name. Spoke to me as if I were just another equal, as if we were the same and as if there were no social or racial difference between us. There was no regard for my status—not until that last second, and even then, she did not apologize. Did not excuse herself. Did not ask for pardon. She just left on her own terms._

It was…well, in all respects, terribly rude. Her behavior went against _so _many laws for a citizen when in the presence of their king.

Yet Thorin could hardly bring himself to care.

It was…arousing. That fire within the hobbit's eyes when he had dared challenge her—dared! Ha! As if he were suddenly stepping foot onto _her _reverent territory, instead of _her _coming before _him _as king—and oh goodness, it was all so backwards. All so reversed, as if she were the queen and he a mere commoner, instead of the other way around.

_How does she do this? How can she—and we have only spoken twice!_

She was a bewitching hobbit. There was no other way around it, and even though he might not have approved of her final decision on what to do with the gold he had given her, didn't know what to think of her, didn't…just didn't ever _know _what to do with her around—he did know that he couldn't send her home.

Not yet.

Not when there was still so much to discover about her. What made her shy, what made her brave, what made her laugh, what made her angry…

(He also realized with a grunt that he was going to start having problems if he kept thinking about her with that same thought—but under _that _kind of light. Oh, for Aman's sakes…that a hobbit should make him lose such control over himself…)

* * *

"…Ithur, as the winner of this week's competition, you will remain for the following one as well and dine with me later this evening."

Polite applause resounded throughout the room as Billa kept her head down, staring at her hairy hobbit feet. She knew she had ruined everything—_everything—_from that…_thing _earlier—so there wasn't any reason to get her hopes up or to even glance at the king and somehow make his decision harder for him.

No, just make it easy, she chose. Let him send you away without trying to play the guilt-card. Just let it be. Let it go. You ruined it, so suck it up and accept the consequences.

Right?

"Also safe this week: Bolg. Congratulations."

Well. Yep.

There it was.

Billa deeply inhaled and exhaled. That…had been the confirmation. The assurance that she was one of the bottom two this week—which, in retrospect, she knew, figured. After so sharp an incline, so startling a win, it made sense that now she'd dive right down to the edge of the barrel. It just proved that that first event had been a fluke. A lucky break. Nothing more.

"Billa and Derrin, I am sorry, but one of you will be going home today."

No surprise there.

Billa kept staring at the floor as the silence thickened to a choking degree.

_Just get it over with. Just send me home. Just say that you never want to see me again, and I'll be out of your sight. Just say the words: 'Billa—'_

"—Derrin—"

'—_I am sorry—'_

"—I am sorry—"

'—_But I must ask for you to…' _

"—But I must ask for you to leave for home."

…_wait. What?_

It wasn't her.

Billa's head snapped up, breaking all the rules she had set for herself as her startled eyes met the calm—proud?—ones of the king sitting upon his throne, who was gazing at her as if he had finally bested her.

(It wasn't her. He didn't send her home.)

The look in his eye was as if—oh goodness, it was as if they were playing a _game_. As if it was all just a game, and he had just swiped the rug right out from under her feet with that unexpected, startling move, and was glad he had.

The hobbit felt her face flush with indignation at that thought. Oh, that he should be so cocky…! Arrogant dwarf!

But then, as the people began to move and talking erupted once more—dwarves shifting, most approaching Derrin to apologize to him or to wish him luck in life—or even to talk to Ithur and Bolg, two of their favorite remaining competitors—Billa saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile.

A warm certainty suddenly blossomed in her chest, bursting forth at the sight—and the hobbit knew without a doubt that he had forgiven her for giving that gold away (although, she was quick to remind herself, it wasn't as if it necessarily was something to be forgiven _for_). But it was okay! It was _okay—_it was all _okay_—he still wanted her here—perhaps he had not approved of her actions more than he did the actions of other suitors—but he still wanted her to _stay._

And that thought, plus the small smile on his mouth, made Billa unexpectedly giddy inside for reasons she could not explain.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **I'm so sorry! ;A; I told most of you I'd update yesterday...and I was so planning on doing so, except Elsa wasn't on. ;A; So I was going to wait on her to beta it, but...she wasn't on today either. ;A; So forgive me! This is unbeta'd and a day late, and I am truly sorry. ;A;

On lighter notes, I hope you've enjoyed this development! 8D More BillaxThorin development (FINALLY), some glimpse of Billa gaining a backbone and standing up for herself (FINALLY), as well as the end of week 2 (FINALLY)!

So without much further a-do...enjoy! Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy, and have a WONDERFUL day! ;A; You guys CERTAINLY deserve it! I finally have more than 100 reviews, more than 100 favorites, and 200 follows! Like! I can't believe it! You guys are incredible! ;A; Just...incredible! I love you, I love you, I love you!

(hugs and kisses and chocolate fudge for you all!)

EDIT: Thank you, Guest, for bringing to my attention the typo of "Malah" instead of "Mahal"! ;A; That was totally my bad...but it is now fixed! So yay!


	12. Here's How I Forgive

"You are wearing a different face than you were earlier."

Dis jumped, startled, and turned to glare at the unwanted guest at her side, who leaned against the wall of the hallway as he calmly smoked his pipe with quiet peace. The old Maiar's eyes, however, were on her, nailing her into place as she stood before the bedroom door with something close to a threat.

The she-dwarf grit her teeth at him, not approving of it. "And what of it? Why should this concern you?"

"Anything concerning the hobbit concerns me."

Dis scoffed, returning her gaze to the very same hobbit's door, which she had been staring at in aimless thought for a good long while yet until the wizard joined her side. "So she has earned your favor, too, huh?" came the quiet question that somehow sounded more like an admission than anything else, strange as it was.

Gandalf hummed. "_I_ have known her since she was a young faunt. So she hadn't needed to earn my favor when it was already given."

Dis grunted.

Silence.

Then Gandalf spoke next, curiously and softly, taking his pipe into his hand as he muttered and eyed her, "…does your brother know you are here?"

"No." Dis frowned. "Neither do my sons—so I would appreciate it if you _didn't _tell them. I will let them know of my presence soon enough."

The wizard hummed again, idly and wonderingly, but it was a consent to her wish, and Dis knew when to accept that easily enough from the Grey.

However, it was just as she returned her gaze to the door that the Maiar spoke up again, softly and with warning, "I know what you are planning to do—but I urge you. Make sure you _want _to do this." A small pause. "…because she _will _break all the rules, you know. She is different. And she _will. _Change. Everything."

"I know." Dis pressed her lips together, fingering the ragged cloth in her hands.

Gandalf let her think for a moment more, before he asked quietly, "And you are okay with pledging yourself to that…?"

As if in answer to his question, Dis finally opened the bedroom door and stepped inside, fisting her torn and dirty brown cloth in her hand as tightly and as nervously as she could while she entered. It spoke so loudly the words that she would not say—but that she meant with all her heart.

_I am certainly not afraid. Not of a hobbit. Not of what she could do, and will do._

And if she had looked behind, she would've seen the wizard…grinning, approval dancing brightly behind his eyes.

* * *

Billa closed her eyes and tilted her face to the night sky, breathing deeply. Bent arms resting lightly on the banister (for she wasn't tall enough to place her hands on it and extend them to a comfortable, reclining degree), she inhaled and exhaled the rocky atmosphere of Erebor, welcoming it into her lungs—and oddly enough, felt something settle itself in her soul calmly and happily, snugly, at the familiar scent.

Coming back after a week of travels made the kingdom certainly…_feel _like something close to home, she decided. Even if it wasn't really Bag End.

Yet she also didn't feel so far from the Shire at all.

It was a happy medium, she realized. A place in-between the familiar and unfamiliar—the life she knew, and the life she had yet to know—all while here in the palace under the mountain. And although she didn't want to get ahead of herself, she had to be rather honest: she…wouldn't mind living there. After getting to know the kingdom and its dwarves, Billa could say that…it wasn't so bad. Wasn't so scary as she had originally thought.

It could…_possibly—_if it had to be—_possibly _be home one day.

She might be okay with that.

A smile played on her face gently, a soft wind brushing through and making her curls dance upon her forehead and nape.

And it was all…so perfect.

"…I could have killed you yet again, and you wouldn't have even known I was here. Stupid Halfling. You're no better since the first night we met."

Blinking her eyes open, Billa turned to face her attendant who gazed at her from the open doorway back to her room. Yet at the sight of the she-dwarf, the hobbit smiled warmly, amused. "No…I suppose not. Two weeks, and I still am no warrior. Surprise, surprise."

Amusement tickled the steel eyes of Dis, although they seemed so far away. Billa smiled at her a moment more and let her think in peace as she, herself, turned back towards the night sky again.

It was quiet for a blissful while, then, until the hobbit felt the urge to speak. She had felt no inclination before to break the companionable silence that enveloped them, warm and inviting like freshly-baked bread, and instead, only stood there, leaning against the railing until the words came to her, soft and in awe. "It's so tranquil tonight…I could almost fall asleep standing…"

Quiet footsteps moved forward, and she could feel Dis now only a few paces behind her as the she-dwarf muttered, "You're awfully relaxed for someone who was almost sent home today."

The corner of Billa's mouth twitched upward in fond amusement. "I…I suppose…" Her eyes opened slightly, gazing through eyelashes to the star-studded sky as she murmured, "But you know, I don't feel very…bad. Or sad." A happy sigh escaped her, and enchanted, the hobbit leaned forward, placing her chin upon her crossed arms. "Oh, Dis, isn't that wonderful…? To finally, not be bogged down with negative emotions in this long, long journey…I feel so at ease with the world…I could dance…"

There was a painful silence that followed, unnoticed by Billa. Dis struggled with her next words. "…so you are…happy…even if _he_ did not appreciate your actions…? Even if he chose to dine with another this evening, thinking they had made the better choice…?"

Billa inhaled and exhaled deep and long, a gentle but full sigh. "Yes."

"Why?"

The eyes closed themselves again, letting the night sky soak into her face as she muttered oh-so-quietly, it was almost inaudible, "A lot of things. I don't…I don't need his approval to be happy, you know." Then she smiled, soft and secretively, "…but he did smile at me. And it felt nice."

What?

"Oh, Dis…after everything I said and did, he still _smiled _at me. It…it was _wonderful_..."

Out of everything the she-dwarf had been expecting for the little hobbit to say, that was the last thing. The very bottom of the barrel of ideas that Billa might bring out during their conversation.

(Yet it was strangely refreshing to know that she was still so unpredictable.)

"…why…?"

Billa hummed quietly, her happiness never leaving her curled lips. "Because…it showed he'd give it a chance. What I said to him, what I suggested—his heart opened, or is opening, and I could see it—it's so pure and lovely—and when he smiled at me and let me stay—I knew. He's not beyond reaching. Not beyond…_trying_. He's not heartless. He's actually a very good and kind dwarf, but he just doesn't know how to _give. _Yet when he smiled…I had a feeling he wasn't above learning how to..."

Soft silence.

Then came the question.

"…and if you should become queen…would you love him?"

There was something weird and broken in Dis' voice that Billa had never heard before—never, because the she-dwarf was always the essence of strength and brutality unwavering—and concerned, she straightened up. "Why—of course—but I must be frightfully honest: I might already be starting to—but why—?"

Kneeling.

Oh—wait—what—Dis was actually—_kneeling _before her…? (And what was that she was holding in her hands…?)

"Dis…?"

The she-dwarf swallowed hard, head bowed. "…I know you don't know what this means, but this…this is a dwarf…_thing_, I suppose you'd call it."

Billa wanted to reach out and pull the dwarf to her feet, because this entire thing was so utterly strange—_Dis! _Battle-worn, commandeering, loud _Dis _was on her _knees _before her and holding out a mere rag as if in offering—but Billa could only bring herself to shake her head vaguely, confused. "A thing for what…?"

There was a long silence until she got her answer, and when she did, it was soft, ashamed, and low with grief. "…it's the deepest form of regret."

"'The deepest…'?" Billa was mystified. "Dis, whatever are you sorry _for_…?"

"My words. My actions. My…" Ugh—why was this so hard to _say_? Why was it difficult to utter her grievances against this hobbit? Against this young female who had only ever tried, and never deserved a drip of hatred she had spat her way? "…my everything," finally came the whisper, for by that point, Dis did not trust herself to speak fully. Her face burned with humiliation; she hadn't meant for this to get so…hard. So emotional. But she supposed…when you meant it with all you had…there wasn't any way to avoid the tears. "I have treated you…wrongly…from the very start. And for that, I am sorry."

Billa's heart ached, and without thinking, she moved forward. "Oh, Dis—"

"—no." The sheer power behind the she-dwarf's voice made the hobbit freeze. Dis tremulously went on. "You need to hear my sins against you. This is the process. I confess, you take the rag, and you place it upon my shoulders in the binding of my debt to you. That is all—so just—just _let me finish._"

W-what…?

"Debt…?" Billa repeated, in shock.

But Dis ignored it and went on. "From the very beginning, I was against you. I sent your real attendants away, and took their place, all in an effort to…to sabotage you so that you wouldn't be married to my brother—who is…is King Thorin himself, if you…did not know. I just…"

A deep, heavy sigh created a pause in which the dwarf quickly gathered herself. "I had thought…I knew what would be best for my brother. And so I decided, prematurely, that you were not it—not his One—and for that—" –She cleared her throat, pushing the words out of her mouth so they wouldn't remain stuck in her throat; that, too, would be doing wrong, because she didn't want to leave a single thing out of this— "—for that, I was also wrong, because it is clearer to me, than ever before, that _you…" _There she swallowed, briefly, quickly, before enunciating and making important her next words with clear conviction, "…_you_, Miss Billa Baggins, are the only one I could ever permit for him."

Her name.

For the first time, Dis called her by name.

Struck dumb and numb, Billa's mouth parted slightly in awed, touched shock as the dwarf continued.

"I could not…there is not…no other person worthy of him. So I would…I would be honored if you would take me in your debt to help you win him, because I…I cannot allow anyone else to sit beside him—not—not when he could have had you."

Silence.

Stunned, beautiful, starry silence.

And when Billa didn't move, Dis sniffed and then urged, "Now take it. Take the rag and place it upon my shoulders, and once you do, I, Dis, daughter of Thrain, will vow myself to your service until you are queen." A shaky, tentative sigh. "It is…the least I can do…to repay…to make right…" Another sniff—and very obviously, Billa knew what the few wet spots were that dripped onto the stone balcony from Dis' cheeks, but she said not a word of it.

Instead, rather, the hobbit finally found it in herself to move with quiet, careful steps, and slid forward before the dwarf, picking up the rag with gentle care.

Dis waited then, head bowed and submissive—which, in itself, was so strange—so unlike anything ever heard of, that a dwarf should do this ritual with a _hobbit—_and nonetheless, she, a dwarven royalty—but like she had uttered before, if there was any non-dwarf creature deserving of such a deep apology, it was this one before her. This one who was now placing upon her shoulders—

—that wasn't the rag.

Dis jerked in surprise as she felt the hobbit fingers delicately try and tie around her neck the strings to her translucent salmon covering—all the while thinking _That's not the rag, That's not the rag, What's she doing? That's not the rag—_until the words finally found themselves tumbling out of her mouth.

"That's not the rag."

Billa knelt before her and smiled, warm and tender—brilliant and soft—as she murmured, patting the tiny bow she had made, "I know."

Dis' eyes dropped to the garment that was _supposed _to grace her back, lying harmlessly and unused in Billa's hands on her lap, and felt a wet growl stir up from her tight throat, hoarse and scratchy as she uttered to the younger one before her, now clad in only her nightgown, "Stupid hobbit—you're_ supposed_ to—my debt—"

"—I thought it'd be a better, more accurate representation of what I exactly think of debts and apologies," Billa replied quietly, her face—if possible—just growing warmer and warmer by the second until Dis was sure it positively glowed with her own, gentle, radiant light under the midnight sky. "To know that you are truly sorry is enough for me. You do not have to pledge yourself to me—you do not owe me anything. You are my _friend, _Dis. And friends can forgive—_and_ forget. Or maybe that's just a…_hobbit _thing."

Ah…yes. Maybe. _Perhaps _that was it.

(But more, rather, Dis had a feeling it was just a Billa-thing.)

The she-dwarf bowed her head, hiding her face as she croaked, "…how? How can you simply forgive…?"

"I…well." Billa's face unexpectedly flushed in modest embarrassment as she bowed her head as well, fingers pressing into the fabric of her nightgown idly. "I…I suppose I already knew…everything. So it's not as if…as if I only had five minutes to bring up the ability to forgive you. It has…it has built. Over the days." She shrugged.

A scoff. "Built? Even through all that I had said to you, and all that I had done…? That—that is even _greater…_"

The dwarf felt her face slowly crumble at that, until at last, in trying to hide it, she leaned forward and down, pressing the side of her face to the outside of Billa's thigh.

And if the hobbit could feel the cold drips tickling her thigh through her nightgown, she said not a word of it. Instead, she chose to place a kind hand upon the back of the she-dwarf's head, running soothing fingers in gentle strokes through the black strands as she murmured very quietly, "…I don't know what you may have thought before…but I don't believe that forgiveness is something you can earn, Dis…it's not an emotion. It's just…something _given_."

Dis didn't know if that was right.

She didn't know if that was wrong.

But she did have the feeling that if more people thought along those lines—instead of in rag-laid debts and retribution, or approval and worthiness—but rather in the simple act of giving more than you've taken—the world might just be a better place.

_Gandalf's right. You _will _change everything, Halfling._

(_You've already begun to change me.)_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Guys...I've just updated/uploaded three stories in one day. That, like, is a record for me. I swear.

Three stories.

(Which, also, subsequently means I have severely lacked today in my daily Camp NaNo word count...yikes...)

BUT IN OTHER HAPPY WORDS.

OMGSH. YOU GUYS ARE FREAKIN' FANTASTIC. I JUST HAVE NO WORDS. I WISH I COULD EXPLAIN TO YOU HOW AMAZING YOU ARE. HONESTLY. BUT I CAN'T. MY VOCABULARY JUST ISN'T WORKING.

I love, love, love all this variety of feedback I'm getting! ;A; Varying from what people like, to what they would like to see, to what they think is annoying or what is a bit cliche...it's all so beneficial to me! And I truly, truly, appreciate every single word of advice/response/love/constructive criticism people have to give. ;A; So thank you. Thank you to you all, and here's my early update just for you!

Enjoy Dis' final coming-around moment, and have a wonderful, wonderful day!


	13. Here's How I Try

"_Congratulations, Bolg, Ithur, and Billa. Each of you have made it to week 3, against all the odds pressed against you. So well done."_

Billa dashed as fast as she could back to her bedroom, skipping up steps and muttering quick, "Sorry's" and "Excuse me's" to all the other unfortunate dwarves she had to squeeze by in order to get there so quickly. The news and announcements from earlier still rang loud and memorable in her ears—and to be honest, Billa couldn't wait to begin on them. It was, once again, _certainly _something very different, but no less challenging—and also something that would allow her to prove herself and her capabilities to Thorin.

Because she _did _want to prove herself to him. Somehow. Certainly.

"_Once again, this week's challenge is different from its predecessors. During these next 6 days, you will be spending a _lot _of time with our very own king as you experience the politics and decision-makings of Erebor first-hand."_

Some part of her vaguely wondered where the desire to win this for her people went—or, better yet, why it suddenly bumped down to second place under the priority of "winning this to get _Thorin_"—yet she couldn't say she wasn't glad it wasn't number one. At the very beginning, anyway, she had said that if she was going to want to win this, it was going to be because she loved him.

"_Today, you should spend the rest of these hours learning as much as you can about dwarven policies and culture. Most of you have gotten a glimpse of it through spending one of your days here last week—but now it is time to dig deeper and even past it."_

…and did she love him?

W-well—perhaps it was far too soon to tell—but something in Billa…kinda…_wanted _to.

Was that wrong? Was that right? Was she acting too soon? Was she being foolish, spurred into motion by the flimsy give-and-take of rushing aftershocks and emotions? Of fragmented _this is what could be_'s flitting through her mind, perpendicular to _this is currently what is_, and leaving her in a hopeful, stuttering mess of, "…I might…perhaps…want…_this_."

They had only truly spoken twice to one another. And yet this was already the circumstance she found herself in—like a blushing young hobbit-lass, fawning over a new crush.

She was horrible, really. All horrible.

"_For the rest of the week, you will be assisting him with various aspects of running the kingdom, but on each of your respective days. For instance, tomorrow, it will be Ithur's turn to accompany the king. Then, on day 3, it will be Miss Baggins' turn. Day 4 will be Bolg's. On day 5, however, all three of you will be present for a cross-cultural conference that will involve the selected governors and masters from each of the races and large cities within Erebor's domain—as well as some other…delegates…outside of it, in order to discuss continuing certain foreign policies."_

It sounded easy enough.

Well, no, actually it was pretty terrifying, because this was the actual _queen_ or _consort_ part that one of them would have to eventually fulfill. Being ruler, being someone for people to look up to—giving orders and offering advice and passing laws and—

—oh dear, she had no idea how to do _any _of that stuff.

"_So prepare yourself for an engaging week. Good luck to each of you."_

Good thing, then, she finally had another royal dwarf in her corner—one who she could ask questions and form tactics with—all in order to succeed in this particular challenge.

So she could do this.

Maybe.

"_That is all."_

_I just need to give it all I've got._

* * *

"…so you…you do—you _are_ going to help me with this…?" Billa asked in wonder, even as she nervously wrung her hands as she watched her dwarf attendant.

Dis smirked, steel eyes alight with excitement and daring. "Ha! Of course! You'd be sunk without me on this one, _that's _for sure—" –well, there was no point denying that— "—I _will _be your greatest asset from here on out, Halfling, so be glad you have me and stop questioning whether or not I will still be standing by you. I've made my choice."

"Oh, believe me," Billa exhaled in relief, running a nervous hand through her short, curly hair. "I already am. Glad—that is. Not…I'm not questioning you…"

"Good," the she-dwarf chuckled. "And then, even later—when it comes time to finally appeal to _Thorin _instead of his crown—I will still know all sorts of things about him that no one else does." She winked. "So trust me. We'll be able to win him even with our hands tied behind our backs."

Billa flushed. "A-ah—yes, well—"

"—after all, you said it yourself. You _are _starting to love him, aren't you?"

The hobbit's face was beet-red and she looked at her attendant-turned-friend-and-advisor with wide, doe-eyes. "A-ah—well—I—I'm—he—er—oh—oh dear…" Billa covered her cheeks with her shaking hands, as if that would somehow calm her stuttering heart. "…it—I—"

But Dis's smirk only grew wider. "Yes…?"

"—it—it's the strangest thing!" The hobbit finally blurted, trembling fingers weaving with one another in uncertainty as she continued, "We—well—w-we've barely spoken—so I—I feel as if I _shouldn't_—but—"

"—but you _do, _right?" And at the hobbit's tight, fearful nod, she laughed loud, long and boisterously. "Oh the conflict between mind and heart! Where the mind says wait, the heart says go—and the poor soul is caught in limbo." Clasping a hand upon her charge's shoulder, Dis then added, "You know, a wise dwarf once said, 'Don't arouse love until it so desires.' So in an effort to follow that advice, we'll take it slow. How does that sound? First this week, first the politics, and _then _we'll worry about the come-what-may."

Heaving out a long, shaky breath, Billa nodded, letting her hands fall from her face and clasp themselves before her. "Yes. Right. Good. That sounds…that sounds excellent."

Dis nodded back. "Good." She clapped her hobbit companion on the shoulder. "Now let's get to work."

The smaller and younger one nodded, moving forward to the desk in her room, where several books and scrolls on dwarven politics and history lay, ready and waiting for her studying.

"Oh—and Billa?"

The sound of the she-dwarf saying her name was still such a shock after two weeks of "Halfing this" and "Halfling that," that Billa almost didn't answer to it. But she did, turning around with curious, wide eyes as her attendant added, "I'm fond of you. You know that. But call my brother 'dim-witted' one more time—no matter how thick-skulled he really is being—and we may have problems. Got it?"

Amusement and terror fluttered through her at the same time until it released itself through her being in the form of a wide, slightly-abashed smile. "Right—I—I won't."

Dis smirked back. "Good."

* * *

The hours peeled away, studying and quizzing and memorizing and learning, all without a break. Dis, in fact, was the one to fetch her lunch and snacks to keep her hobbit stomach appeased while the suitor continued her efforts—another kindness that did not go unnoticed by Billa, who smiled pleasantly at her attendant in deepest thanks.

But all too soon, it seemed, it was time for dinner. And with dinner, Billa was soon to find upon entering the dining room, a new acquaintance.

"Billa! Billa! Come sit by me tonight!"

Turning and smiling, Billa nodded at the young dwarf who donned a knitted sweater who smiled back at her pleasantly and excitedly with equal hospitality. "Sure, Ori! I would love to!" she answered brightly, clasping her hands together.

A disappointed round of "Awwwwww…" came from the table, and laughing, Billa caught the morose gazes from the two brothers who had been holding onto the same empty chair distraughtly; evidently they had been hoping that she would sit by them, as well. Eyes twinkling, so enchanted and touched that they should desire her company, she called to them, "Oh, don't worry, you two. I can dine with you tomorrow, should you want."

"You better!" Kili called, pointing at her with a daring and forgiving look in his eye.

"We'll hold you to that, you know!" Fili promised, nodding in agreement with his brother's sentiments.

Billa only grinned, even as Ori took her hand and led her to his particular spot at the table. Across from them, the hobbit was surprised to see one of her other competitors—she hadn't figured, now that there were so few of them—to have even been able to sit close to him, but now that she saw Bolg by his majesty at the head of the bunch, nearby Balin, Bofur, Bifur, Gloin, Oin and Bombur—she saw that it should not have been that surprising, perhaps.

All the same, as she neared, she smiled meekly at him in greeting. "Good evening, Ithur."

The dwarf smiled back—warm and gentle, and Billa was suddenly struck by how kind he looked. With such a rounded face instead of harsh angles, she noticed, he appeared so friendly. "Good evening, Miss Baggins. You're quite popular at the dinner table, I see."

The hobbit flushed, sitting down as Ori helped push in her seat for her—which she quickly thanked him for, much to his blushing delight—and answered softly, "I…w-well…I've just made some good friends, that's all."

Ithur grinned knowingly at her, which made her uncomfortably warm, as if embarrassed—yet Billa couldn't understand why. "Yes…so it seems."

_What… what does that tone mean?_

Staring at him blankly, Billa almost missed it when Ori quickly intervened, calling to her, "Oh! Hey—Billa, you haven't met Dwalin yet, have you?" and gesturing to her right where sat the largest dwarf she had yet seen, Ori then began introducing, "Well…allow me to present him to you! Dwalin, you have heard of Miss Billa Baggins from the Shire, right? Well, this is her! And Billa, this is Dwalin—he's a very good friend of mine, and the best swords-dwarf in all of Erebor!"

Billa's mouth gaped for words as she stared at the dwarf. "O-oh, uh…" Flapping uselessly, her lips scrambled for purchase, eventually stuttering out, "…w-well then, it's nice to meet you…!"

Dwalin merely grunted.

(Billa swore she could _feel _the gravel and rumble of that sound travel through her bones like a thrumming bass. It was strangely terrifying.)

Ori merely laughed. "There's no need to be scared of him! He's really a friendly guy, and he wouldn't dare hurt the possible suitor of the king. They're too good of friends—Dwalin and Thorin. Besides, I'll be sitting right here on the other side of you, so I won't be far! Okay?" And sure enough—just like he assured—he plopped down right on Billa's left.

Billa nodded and cleared her throat. Dinner was then placed in front of them and while several began to eat hungrily, she, first, tried to make conversation with the large mountain of a dwarf at her side while grabbing at her own portion, picking at the bread and fish. "So…u-um…Dwalin…how…how was your day?"

Then, of course, she instantly and inwardly cringed.

…_that was painful. Absolutely dreadful. Worst conversation starter ever, Billa. Possibly second to the weather, but still. Gosh, you have such great social skills._

"That…that wasn't my best—"

"Fine."

Surprised, Billa blinked up at him. Wait, what? "F-fine…?"

"Fine." The man of a dwarf looked down at her raising an eyebrow as if _she _was the one not making sense. "Good. My day was…fine."

Oh.

_Well, I feel like an idiot. He's not so bad after all._

"That's—that's good." Billa flushed, and focused on her food again. "I'm…glad."

"And yours?"

"O-oh, goodness, um…" Laughing nervously, she set down her fork for a minute as she tossed her eyes to the ceiling, as if the heavens could give her the words she desired. "…I—I suppose you…you could say it was…boring, um…I guess…" She flushed, bowing her head back to her food. "If that's not…offensive, at least…"

There was a weird snort from the dwarf beside her, and it took Billa a moment to realize that it had been a huff of laughter. "Not offensive. Just honest."

Oh. Was that what it was? Billa felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward. "W-well…that's a relief."

Dwalin hummed in agreement and took a bite of the steak before him. It was then Ori, on her other side, spoke up with a curious question, saving her from another painful attempt at conversation. "Hey—Billa! I heard you got something from your hobbit friends back at the Shire! What was it? What did they give you?"

Brightening at the remembrance, Billa turned to the other dwarf. "Oh! It's truly wonderful! They gave me seeds to plant my very own myrtle tree! Isn't it fantastic?"

That drew attention to her like a moth to flame.

But perhaps…not the best kind of attention.

Ori scrunched up his nose in confusion as Ithur looked at her with acute curiosity. Dwalin just stared. Even nearby—Kili, Fili, Dori and Nori gazed at her with varying looks of shock and bewilderment, hands paused on their way to their mouths with food.

And except for the dining of the other dwarves at the other end of the table, all else was silent.

"…s…seeds…?" Ori muttered finally, baffled.

Suddenly meek—because oh, right, while these people were certainly her friends, they were certainly no hobbits—Billa nodded quickly, grabbing a bite of her mashed potatoes. "Yes…I—um—forgot, sorry; that's not…that's not normal for dwarves."

Dori set down his fork slowly, staring at her in wonder. "Why in all of Middle-Earth would they give you seeds…?"

But Kili and Fili both, at the same time, came to their own conclusions, gasping and brightening as they straightened in their chairs. "Oh! I bet it means something!" Fili immediately cried, to which his brother added, "Planting a tree—that has a certain significance, right? I bet it does!" "What does it mean, Miss Baggins?" "You simply _must _let us know!"

"A-ah…" Billa flushed, laughing nervously as she waved a hand. "It—it takes a while to explain. And I'm not…I'm not sure you'll understand, but—"

"—oh, _please_?"

"You can't just _not _tell us—"

"—yeah! That wouldn't be fair!"

The hobbit blinked at them, at a loss. "That…wouldn't be fair…?" she echoed, to which the two brothers nodded decisively.

"You're learning all about _our _culture and history this entire week!"

"Yeah! So to return the favor, you've got to tell _us _a little bit more about hobbits!"

"'Cuz I'll be honest, I know close to nothing about you guys…other than the fact, of course, you guys dance—"

"—which is totally weird, by the way—"

"—but fun!"

"But fun," Fili conceded to his brother with a polite nod. But then he refixed his gaze on the bewildered hobbit lass oblique to them, continuing, "But you're the first hobbit any of us have ever met, really. So you've _got _to tell us what you guys are like. None of us know!"

Even Dwalin grunted, nodding.

Billa could only stare. "You…you're really…that curious…?"

"_Yes_!" both the brothers cried in exasperation.

A shy redness began creeping up her collar and spreading into her face as Billa cleared her throat awkwardly, eyes bowed and darting around her half-eaten plate as she scrambled for a response. "All…all right, well then…um…" She took a breath—inhaling and exhaling—just to buy some time for an answer, until one finally came to her. "How—how about this: how about…you help me study tomorrow, and for every new piece of dwarven information and politics I learn, I will then teach you something about us…hobbits…in return. How does that sound?"

Kili and Fili cheered, completely and immediately enamored with the idea—but it was Nori who actually spoke up in a coherent response, curiously asking as he eyed her, "And is that an invitation open to _anyone_…? As in, any one of us can help you if we wish to know more?"

Billa flushed sharply again. "I—uh—I suppose so…" _Although I haven't the faintest idea why you all are interested in us. In hobbits. We aren't anything special. _"The more the merrier, right…?"

Nori merely grinned back then, humming cleverly.

And caught up as they were in this new plan, no one noticed the soft smile gracing Ithur's face as he watched and listened to the proceedings, patiently eating and staying silent as the excited, bubbly commotion continued around him.

It appeared his hypothesis was turning out to be correct.

But perhaps just one more test might seal his decision for himself.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Not-too-exciting of an update, I know. x3;; But it sets the stage for what is to come in the next chapter, which I've already written, and which...well, is rather more fun. 8D So that doesn't mean this particular chapter is any less important. (It just means it was harder to write. With less actually going on and all. ;A; )

...but you guys. ;A; I just can't. Over 150 reviews? You're just...you're so beautiful. ;.; Every single one of you.

And since you guys are such a dear part to my writing process, I do have a question. ;.; I had some requests to see more of the other dwarves of the Company (Which will happen! 8D Because now we see Nori, Dori, and Dwalin), and for some possible side-romances with them (DwalinxOri, for instance), but...

I just wanted to know what you guys were comfortable with/not comfortable with/want/don't want. Because I _do _want to pay attention to what you guys wish to see, and I constantly make notes based on that so that I can include little bits and pieces in it later. (I also just want to state that there will be NOTHING explicit in this story; perhaps references or hints, but nothing graphic. So if any other romances _do_ appear, they will be in very, very light doses of fluff.)

That being said...I want to make the disclaimer that I will not have incest here. ;.; So no KilixFili. I'm sorry; I know some of you may have wanted that, but I just...can't. D: They can be the halves of each other, sure. But I don't think that phrase always has to imply something sexual or physically intimate, which I just...can't do in their case.

I love them. ;.; But as brothers.

SORRY REALLY LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE. Just keep me informed with what you guys want or don't want to see. 8D And during the plot of this story, if I can include it, I will definitely try! Thanks very much!


	14. Here's How I Learn (Sort of)

"Thank you, Bombur, for letting us use the kitchens. I truly appreciate it."

The large dwarf chuckled warmly as he rubbed his hands together, watching the hobbit move around like all the others were as pleasant aromas began to arise from where she worked. Although…those delicious smells made it quite hard to focus on the conversation, he had to admit. "No…no problem." His stomach rumbled, also appreciating the smells of a hobbit-lunch being made. "I'm just glad you came to me instead of letting Nori break in here. 'Cuz that would have been…that would have been…" _Sniff, sniff. Happy sigh. _

But Billa merely blinked, looking over her shoulder at him curiously. "That would have been…?"

"_I think _what Bombur's trying to say is that it would have been _bad_," Nori replied with a knowing grin at Bombur's sheepish one. He leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed over his chest as the hobbit bustled about with a calm, eased pace as if she were right at home in the kitchen.

"Oh." She smiled warmly. "Why didn't he just say so?"

"Well, in his defense," Fili spoke up, face tilted towards the ceiling as if he could let himself soak in the aromas of stewing beef and potatoes. "It _is _rather hard to focus when it just smells…"

"…so heavenly…" Kili finished, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

His brother hummed in agreement, nodding.

Billa just modestly laughed, even as she finished whipping together the batter for her cake and grabbed the ready and buttered stone pan nearby to begin pouring it in. "You guys. You act as if you're starving dwarflings, never having eaten a decent meal before—which is a total lie, because I _know _Bombur and his family. They cook very well." And it was true—the tradition of midnight snacks had continued now that the hobbit had returned to the palace, and it was through those meetings that Billa finally had the chance to meet the dwarves who were so kind as to give her their leftovers from the day every night.

But Fili shook his head. "It's just not like _your _cooking, Billa. Do all hobbit dishes smell so good?"

The hobbit smiled, finishing pouring the batter for three separate layers before she placed each of them in the fire-oven for cooking. Then she checked on the stew. "Well…in truth, hobbit dishes are not all that different from dwarf dishes. We're just…very…_gourmet _with it, I suppose you could say."

"Well—considering—like you said—that you hobbits eat four to six meals a day, that makes sense. You've had a lot more instances to practice," Ori piped up from where he stood nearby his brother.

Fili and Kili hummed once more in bliss at the remembrance of their deal. "So glad we agreed to this—this—this switch-off of information," Kili murmured, to which Fili nodded back in hearty agreement, muttering, "Who knew it would get us a free meal?"

"And a _hobbit _meal, at that."

Fili chuckled, to which Billa shook her head, amused. "You're both princes. _Every _meal you eat is free." With that, she took the pot of stew off the fire, using plenty of towels in order to safely handle it and set it down on the ground. "Now, aside from all that…who's hungry?"

A line of five dwarves quickly condensed in front of her, making her laugh.

* * *

Like all good food-fights, this one originated completely by accident.

It began when Billa had finished icing her cake, and was beginning to put her ingredients back to their rightful places with the help of Bombur, who knew where everything was supposed to go. It was all of a sudden; it was out of the blue—and no one quite knew how it happened, for weren't hobbit feet supposed to have better traction than normal feet?—but suddenly, she slipped.

Down Billa went with a soft, surprised cry, the flour bag flying out of her hands and into the air—the contents inside blanketing the audience and the floor and counters in one large _fwumph._

And by the time Billa had blinked her eyes open, sputtering the white powder out of her own mouth, she hadn't known the doom she had just sealed herself into until Kili and Fili stared down at her with teasing, snow-dusted grins.

"Looks like the hobbit made a mistake," Fili murmured, nearly cooing.

"Indeed, indeed," Kili nodded. "One little slip is all it takes…"

"W-what…?" she muttered back, dazed and confused, because the entire world had turned upside-down really fast, and she still wasn't quite sure what had happened.

Nori appeared in her line of vision as well, holding something in his hands which he appeared to be stirring with a crafty grin that Billa was rather frightened of. "Piece of dwarven culture number seventeen, Miss Baggins: us dwarves don't take _any_ challenge lightly. It will be _war_."

"…w-w-what will be…?" How did she challenge them? What happened again? She slipped—and then the flour—oh. Wait. The flour? But that was—that was an _accident. _That wasn't a _challenge._

"Say your prayers, hobbit!" Fili grinned.

Ori's voice suddenly floated over to the fallen Billa from where he stood outside of her sight, crying, "Oh—you guys—wait—this is a very bad idea—"

—but it was too late.

Because the next thing Billa knew, she was squealing out of horror, since—_oh my goodness, is that honey? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh—_and there it was, dripping right onto her stomach—and she couldn't even escape! Couldn't writhe or thrash or try and get away because for _some reason_, Fili and Kili thought it'd be a good idea to hold down her arms and legs and trap her there while Nori's evil torture continued.

"No no no no no no! It's so _sticky_!" she wailed, totally uncertain of how in all of Middle-Earth she was ever going to get this out of her _clothes._

But the dwarves above her only laughed. "'Sticky'? Of all things to point out about this—"

"—yes, indeed, Kili, that seems rather obvious. You'd think with all her brains, she'd manage to say something at least _threatening_—not something we already know!"

"I know, Fili, I know."

"_You're horrible! All of you!_" Billa cried, despaired.

"Well. _Still _no new news."

But then, to her delight—_finally_—finally, something broke through the entourage.

(None of them just expected it to be leftover mashed potatoes from the previous night. And thrown by Ori, nonetheless.)

But when Nori raised his head to square his brother's anxious but determined gaze with his own, he uttered lowly, "Get 'im," and the battle was on.

Left and right, food flew. Cream being smeared into faces and eggs being smashed above each others' heads, syrup being smothered into clothing and oil being dished out onto shoulders. Squealing, screaming and shouting and laughing erupted in loud, obnoxious bursts, and as soon as Bombur got reluctantly involved, two clear teams evolved: Billa-Ori-Bombur versus Kili-Fili-Nori.

It was, by all accounts, the greatest food-battle Erebor had ever seen: full of fortresses and assassination plots, grand take-over's and coup-d'état's, coupled with betrayals and laughing vows of revenge and declarations of justice.

Too bad, then, that it all came to an abrupt halt the instant the kitchens door opened and in stepped a furious King Thorin Oakenshield.

All at once, the six participants froze, staring at him with wide, frightful eyes. The _doom _of the entire situation made itself known in their guts, and for a long time, no one moved, and no one spoke to acknowledge it. There was no need to. They merely stared. (Because really—what else could you do when you were caught by your very own king in the middle of acting like children?)

Billa could see two other dwarves behind the king standing past the doorway—Ithur and Balin, she identified they were, from a sliver of a glance at their hair—and felt her stomach sink even further, because she knew she had disrupted their meetings. Disrupted something important.

_Oh…what have I done…?_

She swallowed hoarsely, and from a large guilt complex, immediately stepped forward, "I can explain—"

"—Cake?"

…what?

Startled, interrupted before she could really even do anything, Billa turned and looked at Kili who had spoken, who was also holding out her finished dessert—which, by now, from their battle, was covered in all sorts of unsavory ingredients that didn't look at _all _appealing—as if in a peace offering. He had a meek smile on, one that was contradicted by the mischievous look in his eye, and didn't waver even as the king lifted his eyes from the horrendous thing and back to his nephew's face.

And really, the entire situation was so bizarre, so random, that all of a sudden, the guilt fled from Billa's stomach and was replaced instantly by the bubbling, light champagne of growing laughter.

She tried to stuff it at first, but her half-smothered snort sounded even more ridiculous, so by that point, all of her other five combatants violently burst into humor right along with her in hearty and boisterous "ha-ha's" and "hee-hee's."

She barely heard Ithur call out, "Sir…?" to a Thorin who must have been angry and furious with all that righteous emotion—but when next Billa looked, the king was already shaking his head and turning away, with what appeared to be…a…well, she couldn't be seeing that right. King Thorin wasn't really…_smiling…_was he…?

"I give up," she heard him murmur to the other two. "I give up on trying to be unsurprised, now, wherever that hobbit is concerned."

"She's just as bad as Kili and Fili," she could hear Ithur laughingly remark.

But the dwarf king only grunted. "Eh. Nearly…she's _nearly _there."

Strangely, that almost sounded like a compliment to Billa's ears.

* * *

"…and then my boy said _what_?"

Bathed, showered and changed, Billa was laughing so hard, she could hardly form the response. "He held up the cake! He actually—he actually _held it out _as if he wanted Thorin to _take _it, and then he asked, all innocently, 'Cake?'" The she-dwarf sitting across from her on the bed tilted her head up and laughed at the ceiling, pride bursting forth for her children and their humor. "And your brother _knew _what he was trying to do—you could see it in his face! It was priceless!"

More laughing erupted, the two unable to hold it inside.

Dis, in particular, laughed on and on, almost doubling over from where she sat. "Oh—if only I could have seen it!" she chortled finally, once it began to die.

The statement made Billa quiet curiously, staring at her attendant in surprise. That's…that's right. She was still hiding in secret, away from her family's eyes. "Why…why don't you? See them, I mean." Unable to believe that this hadn't occurred to her before, she shifted and asked, "Why don't you tell them you're here, Dis? Surely you miss them…"

But the she-dwarf smiled secretively at her, a knowing sparkle to her grey eyes as she leaned in. "Forget so easily, Halfling?" Yes, Billa supposed she did. "I have a new pup. Can't just leave her to a new attendant, now, can I? Not when I've just started to properly take care of her."

Billa flushed. "Would they really make you stop helping me if they knew you were here?"

Sobering slightly, Dis pressed her lips together and reluctantly nodded.

The hobbit shook her head, baffled. "But why? It's not like—" But with a sudden gasp, Billa's eyes widened in realization. "Oh—oh wait—we _are_ cheating, aren't we? By you helping me? That's an unfair advantage to the other competitors—you're the king's _sister—_"

"—honestly? I don't give a care about the morality." Dis smirked, chuckling. "I'll keep saying it as long as I have to, but I can't allow anyone else to sit by him when he could have had you. You're the only one, Halfling. I can allow him with no other." With a grunt, the she-dwarf lay back, folding her hands behind her head as she stared at the ceiling. "So if I have to cheat to get you there, so be it."

Billa tried to squash the unease in her chest, but it didn't settle. "But that's not right; what if…" Oh dear, that wasn't a very happy thought, now, was it? Billa suddenly felt her soul sink. "…what if he doesn't…_want _to chose me…? I—we have no right to make him do so against his will…"

"Trust me. He wants to choose you."

The certainty behind Dis' voice was startling.

But then she continued, as if knowing immediately what the blushing hobbit was going to ask a second later. "I don't need to talk to him in order to read his body language." Dis' smirk was proud, confident as she returned Billa's gaze with stone-lined absolution. "Sister, remember? After growing up with that dwarf, I can still read his entire mind by a single glance. He's quite an open book once you get to know him, you know."

Billa then smiled tentatively, shyly, closing her parted, shocked mouth and bringing her bent knees up to her chest to wrap her arms around them. "…is he really?" she nearly whispered, reverently.

"Painfully so," came the smug response. Storm eyes gaze at her fondly. "You'll see. Tomorrow, that is."

The hobbit bit her lip in anxiety and anticipation at the reminder. A day—oh, an entire _day_—by the king's side. Far more than they've seen of each other in total so far these past two weeks. Seeing what he saw, hearing what he heard—being _there _as he made important, daily decisions. And it would just be the two of them. "Do you think he'll be mad at me…? For today…?"

"Nah." Dis rolled her eyes. "He couldn't be. It's hardly the largest mess that's been made out of Erebor's kitchens. If you had _broken _something, maybe…but a food-fight? He's seen worse. In fact, he's _done _worse, now that I think about it," she broke off into laughter as memories stirred themselves to life within her mind.

"_Really_?" Billa asked in disbelief.

The elder sister laughed. "Oh, yes. It was quite the disaster. And father was furious. Until he got his revenge, at least."

Billa laughed right on back, clinging on to that particular gem of information. "That sounds dreadful!"

"It _was_." Dis hummed in contented remembrance, staring at the ceiling as she thought, when a sudden idea struck her. "You know…you _can _ask me anything, if you want. Anything at all you might want to know about him. It might help you prepare for tomorrow—or for…well, you know…the _future._" She aimed a sly grin at her charge's direction. "And the whatever-may-be's. However those come up, surprising and unexpected as they are."

"Oh!" Billa blinked at her, and then suddenly and sheepishly bowed her head, "Oh, w-w-well, a-actually…" And it was the tone that caught the she-dwarf's curiosity immediately, eying the hobbit as the young lass fell shyly silent.

"…actually…?" she urged in the quiet.

The small mouth opened and closed several times at a loss for words, her face growing steadily redder and redder by the second until it resembled a bright, red and vibrant cherry. "W-w-well, y-y'know…" Actually, Dis didn't, but she listened anyway. "…I…I'm not…um…oh…I—I shouldn't—"

"—ask it." A daring grin spread across the she-dwarf's face.

"No—"

"—_Halfling…"_

The hobbit tensed, then sighed heavily and nervously, head bowed but still so scorching hot, it nearly matched her hair. "W-w-well…I'm not…I'm not…ugh…" Embarrassed, Billa covered her face with her hands. "…I'm not…_dwarf_-sized…as you…as you know…"

"Yes…?"

"S-s-so…sometimes…y-y'know…I catch myself wondering…if…if we…we were to get _married_…"

A pause. "…yes…?"

"…I…I _wonder..._if…it'll…f-fit."

Dis couldn't be blamed when a second later, she found herself laughing so hard she accidentally rolled off the bed and onto the floor in a loud clamor of noise and hilarity that quite frankly, startled the poor hobbit to near death. If, of course, she wasn't dying already out of pure red embarrassment and humiliation.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **8D Told you it was more exciting...? Haha, yeah this is a bit of a change of pace for this story, which I'm finding is usually somber...but now I've added something far more light-hearted, I think, than we've seen before in this story, so. 8D;;; Enjoy! I'm trying to add more of this more-amusing fluff while I can and we have this period of respite until, well, things go down, as Esther fans can attest.

But anyway! Aside from that!

AS FOR THE COUPLES, here is what I have decided: Because I've gotten a fairly good mix of votes both for and against other pairings, I'm going to try to appeal to both. 83;;; There will be no _direct_ couples between the other dwarves of the company, but merely interactions which, if you guys want to see it as such and take it through with a fine comb, can be taken under a "fluff" light. However, I'll keep it as platonic as possible, too, so for those who don't want to assume the other dwarves are in a relationship, there won't be anything suggesting too much.

Does that sound fair? ;A;

I'm sorry to disappoint anyone who had been hoping for some good Dwalin/Ori or Kili/Bofur or even Fili/Bofur interactions, as I had gotten some votes for. But I also must appeal to the other half of my readers who have voiced their wishes to not have romantic involvements between them. So. ;A;

Read what comes as you will. 8D

Also! (Sorry, this is YET AGAIN another long author's note! ;A; But I can't keep this piece of information out!) Also, I happened to be a very lucky girl this weekend. x333 Yesterday, I got to see an original manuscript of J.R.R. Tolkien's! AN ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT! LIKE, WHAT? Of course, it was only about the history of the word "lozenge" but still...to see the lingering handwriting on aging paper of that amazing man! ;A; AND I GOT TO TOUCH HIS DESK! Like, the _actual _desk that he wrote _The Hobbit _on, and some drafts of _Lord of the Rings. _I GOT TO TOUCH IT! ;.;

I felt so connected. ;A; So needless to say, I am now VERY happy to update this story, after such an exciting and fangirling-inducing experience.

SO ENJOY! 8D And have a wonderful day! (I'll finally, really and truly, shut up, now. Sorry about all that.)


	15. Here's Where I Reconcile

"…in our defense, we were totally helping her study."

Thorin sighed, using one large, weathered hand to wipe his face as he walked briskly down the marble hallways and to his throne room. He was already, technically, a few minutes late—he didn't need to be even _more _late thanks to his anxious nephews who still felt as if they had to somehow justify their actions from the previous day.

"Yeah? Well. Interesting _study_ tactics, if you ask me," he mumbled dryly, hand finally dropping to his side as he skirted a corner.

"It was great, actually! We learned so much—"

"—yeah! It was a _great _idea on Billa's part—"

"—not that the food-fight was her idea; because actually, that was ours—"

"—yeah, totally ours. But the study idea was hers."

"Yeah."

Upon coming up to the doors that would open up to his final destination, Thorin turned around to face his two bumbling nephews, who also scooted to a halt behind him. "You two have been acting all morning as if I'm going to somehow chew her out for that immature display yesterday—"

"—well you _are_—"

"—never said that I would," Thorin countered, exasperated as he glared at them. "In fact, I never said I was angry about it. Even more, I don't think I've even been the one to bring it up yet—_you _two have. So whoever is saying that it's an issue, or acting like it's a larger deal than what it was?" He sighed, shaking his head, giving both of them affectionate, light bops on the head. "You two are. Yesterday's yesterday. Leave it behind us."

Kili winced from the bonk, as Fili brightened. "So you're not going to send the hobbit away?"

Startled, Thorin turned to look back at the two as they gazed at him with large, wondering eyes. "Is _that _what you're worried about?" _By Mahal, what kind of spell has she placed on them to make them adore her so much?_

The two brothers nodded somewhat sheepishly and ashamedly in response. Thorin couldn't help but chuckle, then, shaking his head and glancing away, eyes and hand dancing back to the door that lead to his throne room as he grasped the handle, turned and pulled to walk through without answering.

And as soon as he was gone, Kili and Fili glanced at each other, at a loss.

"Was that a good or bad chuckle, you think?" the dark-haired one whispered.

"…you know, I can't tell…"

Kili shook his head in lost response back, swallowing. "Neither can I. And that's what scares me."

* * *

With that conversation in mind, whatever Thorin had been prepared for—perhaps some witch in disguise of a hobbit, who was enchanting his nephews and steadily more and more members of his company into falling over their feet for her—or a siren, singing to him an enchanting melody to pull him in muted slumber—it wasn't this.

She was…lovely.

And it was the strangest thing, because she wasn't adorned with jewels. She held no gold upon her ivory neck or wrists. No crown upon her brow, no fur over her shoulders. So she shouldn't have been so striking. Now with only short, auburn curls, a simple, pale-blue cotton dress that didn't fit her form, and a modest, bright smile.

Yet she was.

And Thorin, at the sight of her, felt something within his chest suddenly jump and jerk—so violently, so suddenly, that he almost tripped.

But it was at his slight stumble that her smile quickly drained away, and without thought, she hurried forward, hands clenching and unclenching in indecision of whether or not to aid him. "Are—are you all right? Did you catch your foot on something? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

"No—no—I'm fine." Thorin muttered, brushing off her hands that finally decided to reach out to him. "Just…fine." He cleared his throat.

Billa's face unexpectedly flushed at that, and she pulled her hands back sharply, as if shocked. "Oh. Right. Of course." A small, awkward pause. "I—I should have figured—of course—king and all—I bet you never lose your balance—"

"—never—"

"—yes. Right. Of course. I knew…that."

Silence.

Blue stared at steel-sky, steel-sky staring into blue.

Thorin cleared his throat once more, barely able to register his own surprise at himself for being so…incapable of speech, thanks to the growing blankness of his mind the longer he was spending in the hobbit's company. "Yes. Well. We have only a few minutes until our first session with the Master of Lake-Town and the couple of associates he has with him to represent the human population in Erebor, so we might as well begin heading in that direction, I think."

"Yes! That…that sounds excellent." Billa nodded quickly, bowing slightly in humble submission as she added, "L-lead the way then, your highness. I shall…follow you wherever."

And without thought, the dwarf king then corrected her. "Thorin."

The name brought the hobbit up short, and she blinked in surprise at him, barely able to register what he had just said in the midst of all her other worries. "What…?"

"Thorin." Clearing his throat again, because by Mahal, it was already dry, he nodded briskly as he continued walking by. "I…I prefer you to call me 'Thorin.' It sounds…better that way." _More like you. More like us. More like how our relationship is so different than anything else I've ever known, and makes me feel so…unsettled, uncomfortable._

_But alive._

Billa merely and slowly smiled at him, eyes bright and humming with something…unnamable that made the beast in Thorin's chest suddenly purr. "All right, then. Thorin."

Yes.

* * *

On the other hand, whatever Billa had been expecting about seeing the Master of Lake-Town once more—his false warmth, his constantly wringing hands and nervous, greedy smile—she hadn't been expecting this.

This…part about being bowled over by tall, long human limbs and golden, gorgeous hair with such strength, she was practically lifted off the floor.

All of a sudden, there was noise and yelling—Thorin was angry, Balin, Gloin and Oin were beseeching him to wait, the Master of Lake-Town seemed embarrassed about something—and then there was the voice in her ear, too—a distinctively familiar one—that uttered rapidly, "I'm so sorry—I'm so sorry—I owe you _everything_—oh, do you know what you've done for us? Will you forgive me…?"

And it was then, in the midst of the rumbling chaos, that she suddenly gasped and remembered.

"Melody!" Wriggling back and quickly finding the floor with her hairy feet again, Billa grasped the hands of the young woman before her from the previous week, smiling brightly at the worried, remorseful face that met her (but one, she saw, that was distinctively healthier-looking). "You're here! You're all right!"

The young woman let a smile break through, huffing out a breath of laughter. "Of course I am—my entire family is—because of _you. _Do you know what you've _done _for us…?"

Perhaps it was a bit late to realize it, but Billa suddenly noticed that the entire conference chamber for meetings had fallen silent to their two voices. Nervously, she swallowed and tried to hurry it up, "W-well, it wasn't much—it was all I could give you—"

"—it was _enough._" Melody's voice broke somewhere in that affirmation, and she smiled even more crookedly, joy shining through her eyes as she added, "Oh, it was _more _than enough. I am only…I am only sorry for how I treated you. You deserved none of it—none!"

"Oh, it's quite all right; its okay—" Billa tried to dismiss, waving her hand, but the woman continued.

"—and I had slapped you, and called you ugly, and—"

"—you did _what_?"

Oh.

Oh dear.

Billa quickly spun around, effectively stepping between the suddenly-fuming dwarf and the human woman who stood behind her, addressing the king as lightly as she could, "Oh, Thorin—it's truly nothing—we already talked about this, didn't we…? Yes, I think I distinctly remember—and you even _laughed _about it so it's perfectly okay—oh, and this is Melody, by the way—charming young woman—"

"—_she _is the one who slapped you?" Thorin seemed to only hear two words out of all the hobbit bumbled on about, much to her growing exasperation.

Melody—bless her—kept her mouth shut, pressed into a thin, apprehensive line as Billa quickly changed the subject. "We're not here to talk about me, anyway! Let's talk about the meeting! Humans! Progressive tactics! Yes! Excellent idea—"

"—she should be _punished_ for raising a hand against one of my suitors—in the same manner that those orcs had been taken care of by Azog," Thorin growled.

Oh dear. That sounded absolutely horrifying. As if in agreement, she could feel Melody stiffen behind her, fear entering those nimble bones. "N-no! Not in that manner at _all, _Thorin!" Billa was quick to scold, emboldened by the Big Person behind her. "She is to be _forgiven_, and that is that!"

The hobbit then frowned at him heavily—and it seemed to be that disapproving look of hers that suddenly snapped the king back into focus, especially as she glared at him and added, "Now, let's forget this petty grudge against things-that-have-been, and get down to business, right? That's what we're here for, anyway—not to settle empty vengeances—but to create new agreements. So let's _do so._"

A pregnant quiet.

Gloin, Oin and Balin shared mystified glances with each other, and Billa missed their appraising looks that they sent her way a second later, caught up as she was staring at the dwarf king who stared at her back in reluctant uncertainty.

They glanced back at each other.

"…'empty vengeances'…?" Gloin uttered quietly.

"…so is she saying it's wrong…?" Oin whispered.

"Then how else should we do business…?" Gloin added.

"Should we not keep the races indebted to us…?"

"What about disputes? How are we to settle them if we cannot bear a grudge?"

"Strange little thing, she is, that she can mystify us so and commandeer such action now…"

"…and yet be completely shy and trembling later," Gloin nodded.

"I _think_…" Balin finally broke in to the other two, looking at them with careful, old and wise eyes. "…we ought to wait. Let us see what the hobbit says throughout the day, and judge what we can of her ruling styles and character then. Because from what I see…" Gesturing with his eyes to their king, who was finally turning and huffing his way to the table, Balin then added, "…it is _he _who is drawing this courage out of her."

Oin frowned, pressing his lips together. "…is that good? Or bad? For if she is not that strong by herself, then how can we trust her to be queen, in times that she will have to hold the kingdom together while Thorin is off to war?"

"That is why we will wait. We will see, throughout this day, what she does. How she acts. What she believes. And then, we will _test_."

Comprehension dawned behind the pair of other eyes listening to him, and with resolution, they nodded in silent agreement.

* * *

But to everyone's surprise, the day and tests, even, went by smoothly. Lightly. Which was particularly different—particularly weird—and particularly striking about it all, figuring that it was a day full of meetings, conferences, problem-solving and policy-examinations. So by all means, it should have been something that at the very least, Thorin would have been pulling his hair out over, like he did every other time they had a day such as this.

Yet for some reason, it didn't seem as bad as normal.

And the dwarf king had a gut-feeling that it was because of the hobbit sitting at his side, who, throughout the day, hadn't said much at all other than pipe up for quiet, calm bids for patience and a few uttered questions here and there—questions, Thorin realized, helped him answer his own that he had, as if they were meant to angle his thoughts in a new, right direction.

In fact, in retrospect, she hadn't had a large hand at all in the decision-making process. At least, up front. But in how she affected his own mental ability throughout the day…that was _definitely _an influence. A…positive influence, he would say.

And turning to her now after the last conference had ended, he opened his mouth to speak to her—only to have her beat him to it, in the end. (Like she always seem to do, somehow. Yet he wasn't…displeased by that. Oddly enough. As strange as it was—as strange as everything was, this weird little hobbit who wasn't beautiful, and yet was. Who was shy, and yet was brave. Who wasn't confident, and yet could be.)

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I wasn't much help today."

A soft, meek smile graced those small lips as the hobbit bowed her head and folded her hands in her lap. "I'm afraid you've seen me at _all _ends of my worst, now, your highness. First when I was so angry, I forgot my place, second, when I am so immature, that I neglect my duties, and third, when I am so nervous and frightened, that I forget all that I have just learned. I…apologize for not…aiding you as much as I should have, and displaying the prowess fitting of someone to be at your side. Do forgive me."

Thorin found words spewing out of his mouth before he could stop them, brow furrowing as his traitorous lips uttered, "Nothing to apologize for. And actually, I _do _wish you'd stop apologizing for everything. You've helped far more than you know today."

Lifting her head in hope, Billa gazed curiously at him—and whatever she must have found there in his face then finally made her smile and relax. "That's...a relief. I'm glad for that, at least. I was worried I had made it worse, after everything..."

"No." _Stop. Stop. Stop talking. Think. _"Never."

_You could never make it worse._

Billa's smile brightened at him, the softness at the edges warming something caramel and thick inside his chest, much like it had that dinner two weeks ago, when they had only just met.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Alkjsdlfksdf. ;A; You guys are stellar. I keep complimenting you, but I mean it. And I wish I could say more right now...but I'm tired. Dead tired. And broke. Literally...financially...broke. ;A; So I'm a bit in a sad day right now. But I thought I'd publish the next chapter anyway. ;A; So here goes.

Enjoy! More fluffiness to come! And thank you! ;A; Thank you all! Even without money, your guys' kind words make me feel like a millionaire inside! So have a wonderful, wonderful day, as thanks from me! ;A;


	16. Here's Where I Doubt

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Dinners—where Oin, Gloin and Balin sat next to her more often, now, asking her questions and inquiring her opinion on certain social and political issues (which, rather gave her a headache, but she answered as best and as patiently as she could, anyway)—more interesting "study" groups—which, for some reason, always turned out to be "field trips" with the lock-picking skills of Nori to get into any and all different parts of the castle that Kili and Fili wanted to show her, which they claimed was so much more educational instead of just sitting inside her bedroom and reading the scrolls (she couldn't say she wasn't glad for that, though, because now she knew where the library was, and _that _had been fascinating…if not a little dusty)—and then, of course, the conference-of-conferences day in which all three of the competitors sat in on a multi-racial meeting with _elves._

_That _had been a pleasant surprise—at least, for Billa.

The dwarves…didn't think so. It was painfully evident to her that it was their last wish to even _allow _the "tree-shaggers" within their kingdom—but it _was _necessary. Even _they _knew it; there were important, inevitable matters to discuss, after all. Things that _had_ to be dealt with.

And no dwarf would dare send their king into the elf's land of Rivendell or Mirkwood alone. So no, things were to be met on their own terms, on their own turf, in their lands alone.

In the end, it had been a trying day after discussing boundary lines and reviewing their non-aggression treaty. More than once, Billa had to try and intervene, calming down the frustrated dwarves beside her and placating them. She even, once, had to try and appeal to the elves, although she felt she wasn't half as effective in that department, considering she had been blushing and stuttering in the face of such slender beauty before her, on the other side of the table.

(She also found it odd how Thorin had even gotten more frustrated after that, jaw set and hard as he dealt with the following issues shortly.)

But after it was all said and done, the elves were quickly hustled out, and Billa was left scrambling—because she wanted to at least say farewell to them—at least thank them for coming all this way, even if the dwarves wouldn't say such a thing—so she immediately straightened and cried out, "Wait!" at their departure, which earned her a sharp, startled silence.

Both elf delegates who had come—Elrond from Rivendell and Thranduil from Mirkwood—curiously turned to see the small voice who had called out to them, and under such penetrating gazes, Billa flushed again.

"Yes…?" Elrond—by far, Billa had learned that day, the nicer one—asked.

"I just—um—wanted to thank you for…coming." Standing from her chair, now, she gave a small, modest curtsey. "I know it must have been a journey—and you are only here for a day—so I…thank you. I thank you, and I…wish you a safe trip back home. May the sun ever shine upon your brow."

Something softened in the both of the elves' eyes at that, and with a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Elrond dipped his head in response—slight and noble, like every other angle and movement of him was. "It has been a long, long while since I have had the pleasure of talking with one of your kind, Halfling—and to hear such a blessing. I wish for you, your roots to grow strong, your branches to be many and your fruit to be bountiful; I hope that you will always reach higher. May the sun ever shine upon your brow, as well."

Billa's face was very warm, very hot as she smiled meekly back, impressed that he knew such hobbit-farewells. "Th-thank you."

And then they were gone—lead out—well, more like _shoved _out by that point, because once again, Thorin didn't look too happy about this development. He kept glancing at her oddly—as if frustrated, confused—and Billa, herself, couldn't figure it out why he should be so bothered by their perfectly-friendly interactions. So she sat back down, waiting until they were dismissed.

But even once they were, he didn't let her leave. Not like the others.

Actually, he pinned her quite in place by his heavy, scrutinizing gaze as he muttered, "What was _that _about?" as if expecting her to know the answer—or even what he was referring to.

Billa glanced at the doorway through which all the others had passed, and couldn't help but feel cornered. "W-what was _what _about…?" she asked, finally looking back at his face as she saw there was no room to escape.

"You know what I'm talking about," Thorin uttered, looking cross and at the same time uncertain—and it was such a strange combination, Billa found her eyes fixed on his face in surprise.

"N-no…" And the hobbit found herself, surprisingly enough, speaking the truth. "Actually, I don't…?" _Are you always going to be cornering me like this when you have a question or concern? Because if this is going to become a habit, I might start to look for places to hide…_

The dwarf king sighed in exasperation and gestured with his hands for her to see—although in truth, that didn't help her see anything at all. "That—_that._" Even more specific. Great._ "_Those words—whatever you said to one another. About trees and roots and fruit—suns and branches—" His face twisted in disgust at mentioning the green-growing things. "—what _was _that?"

Oh.

Well.

Billa felt her face flush. She couldn't…she couldn't exactly tell him what _that _meant! Not—not when they weren't even… "U-um…it was just…a traditional hobbit farewell! That's all!" _Totally not a marriage-blessing. Nope. Not at all._

"But your face—"

"—oh! W-well, I suppose I'm just…surprised! It's not often the w-words are actually _spoken _and all; I mean…usually, we hobbits just say that much when we give each other seeds, so—to hear it in person's a bit…different. Unusual." Supplying a smile, hopefully far less nervous than she felt, Billa then quickly added, "But no less nice of him. Very thoughtful, actually." She cleared her throat. "Very."

Thorin stared at her a bit longer, oddly once more, and the hobbit fought the urge to squirm under such a gaze.

Desperately, her eyes darted towards the door once more, and trying not to squeak, she timidly asked, "Can…can I go now…?"

There was a pause, a stretch of anxious silence, until the dwarf king finally and tightly nodded. With a breath of relief, Billa slid off her chair and passed him, hurrying towards the door so she could find safety and solace in the waiting ears of her attendant, who was probably preparing the bath now for her washing before dinner this evening. (And didn't a bath after sitting all day, discussing stressing, menial business just sound _wonderful!_)

Yet it was just as she was reaching for it, that Thorin's voice caught up with her pointed hobbit ears once more, quiet and awkward.

"Oh…and…one more thing."

Oh? Billa turned to face him from the doorway, eyes wide and ears pricked to hear what he had to say.

It seemed to trouble the dwarf king a bit to say it, but after a slight struggle and averting of his blue-grey eyes, he then finally muttered, "…I…" Then he cleared his throat once more. "Well. May the…sun ever shine upon your brow…then."

Billa's face flushed harder than ever before, but she couldn't stop the stretching smile that spread over her face, bright and happy and tickled that he had even _said _it, and not only tried. "…you know, you don't have to say it at every good-bye. It's just when you're uncertain that your paths will ever cross again." At the king's startlingly more awkward expression, she then hurriedly added, "_But_—I thank you. I thank you very much, Thorin." The smile, if possible, stretched wider in meek adoration as her fingers idly traced the stone carvings on the door. "It's…very sweet of you."

Face flushing hard, the hobbit then turned and left quickly, before anything else more endearingly strange passed between them. (Because truth be told, she didn't know if she could take how big her heart was stretching at that moment. It might have just burst through her ribcage if she didn't try to keep it in check.)

And preoccupied as she was, dashing down the hallways back to her room, she didn't notice that standing outside of the door to their conference room had stood one of her competitors the entire time, face tilted to the ceiling as he smiled gently, ruefully, and knew that his hypothesis had been correct all along.

_So I've already lost. How…disappointingly not disappointing._

* * *

"You are wearing such a sour face, Bolg. More so than usual, that is."

The orc turned to view the dwarf who approached him, pressing his lips together hard as he recognized the shorter creature upon that single, searching glance. He then turned back to the ledge and overview of the vast Lonely Mountain's plains and marketplace, the evening sky crisp and quiet over the lull of life.

He grunted low in his chest as he answered. "And how would you know? You and I have barely spoken before now, Ithur."

The dwarf came a stop at his side, eyesight gazing over the stone ridge. Hearing naught but silence, Bolg grunted again, more so in amusement this time as he then added, "All right, then. So stay cloaked in your quiet. But do tell me, in the mean time if you will: what brings you to my company on such a night, the day before our reckoning?"

A small smile tugged on Ithur's lips. "Oh, just a question. Nothing more, so don't worry; there's no need to sharpen your swords."

Bolg's mouth twitched. "Amusing. But then, what is it? I care not for patience; so out yourself. What did you come to ask? "

Ithur, in response, merely and carefully hummed. "If you so insist, then. My question actually…concerns our fellow competitor—the hobbit, you know." And at the mention of her, the orc beside him tensed suddenly and sharply; seeing this, the dwarf made no mention of it, instead muttering as he kept the corner of his eye trained on Bolg, "I was curious to hear what you thought of her—her and her…unconventional ways. For she is quite different, so I've noticed."

"She is a hindrance," Bolg uttered lowly, hard. His very voice was braced as if this were an issue he had been toiling inwardly about for a long, long time. "She is not right for the kingdom, and she is selfish. She is a glory-seeker—she is—"

"—why," Ithur replied laughingly, amazed. "How negative! If I didn't know better, I would say you were jealous of her—"

"—she is _weak_," Bolg seethed with hard eyes that snapped towards Ithur's mirth-filled ones. "There is nothing to be envious of in such feeble showmanship. She is an actress—a fake. There is nothing consistent or true about her."

"Well, you might be quite right on those inconsistencies of hers, but I don't think she's being untrue to herself." Ithur hummed in thought again, face tilted to the sky. "At least, not anymore. At the very start of this entire thing_, _I would have agreed with you—in fact, I would have said she didn't even know _who _she was when we first arrived here. She was so unsure of herself, I remember upon first glance. But day-by-day, I'm beginning to notice a change in her—aren't you?"

Yes. Yes he was.

But Bolg wasn't about to admit that. Not about his enemy, not that sniveling little witch.

So Ithur continued. "Day-by-day, I'm beginning to see that she actually is _finding_ herself…_here_. Of all places." He chuckled once more. "Not in her little hobbit hole of the Shire, not with all of her hobbit friends, and not even while out under the sun—but under a mountain. In fact…" A careful, awed grin spread over his face. "…well, I'd say it's almost as if she belongs here. As if her and Thorin were…always meant to be. Certainly seems that way sometimes, what with the way they always look at each other and corner one another in deep conversations."

Bolg pressed his lips together even more firmly, refusing to speak. It all bothered him. Deeply.

Ithur merely grinned, clapping a hand on his forearm. "Oh, but don't look so melancholy, Bolg. There's at least one thing we _can_ do, now, as far as I can tell, especially when in the face of our fearsome competitor. And I think it's wise we both do so."

"Oh?" Bolg grunted lowly, darkly. "And what's that?"

Ithur's smile turned secretive, knowing, as he muttered with a wise twinkle in his eye, "To know and accept when we've been beaten, and have the courage to walk away."

No.

No, that…that was out of the question.

No.

* * *

This was a weird week, Billa decided as she stood beside the two other suitors of the king for the elimination round. It was…different—far more so than both of the other weeks so far that were behind her—and perhaps that was because there hadn't been much to actually do besides sit and talk for their "challenge"—but all the same, she couldn't help but notice that there was also a large lack of…high's and low's this time around. It had been pretty emotionally-linear the week through.

And it had been…pleasant, really. The entire time. The food-fight, the reconciliation with Melody, spending time with Thorin and learning more about him as well as the entire dwarven race, being given personal tours of the castle by Kili, Fili and Nori, having late night girl-talks with Dis…

It had all been so _fun._

And more so than any other week, Billa was able to get the feeling that from _this_ week in particular, it would be the most real duplicate, or emulation, of what everyday life would be like living in the castle. That there would be meetings, there would be explorations, there would be childish playtimes, and there would be serious reprieves—a system, constant cycle of learning.

_That is what it would be like, _she knew. _That would be how I spend most of my days—could I live with that? Could I be happy here, if that were the case…?_

Billa's eyes glanced over Thorin's company as they were gathered around his throne and saw each one smile at her with unexpected fondness which made her flush irresistibly in awe. And then, when her eyes landed on the king himself who at that moment had just arrived in enough time to sit upon his royal chair, she saw him cast a quick glance at her—meeting her eye and softening just the slightest.

_Yes,_ Billa's heart suddenly sang. _I think…I think I could be happy here._

_Even without the green grass of your Shire? _Some part of her mind asked with a voice that sounded suspiciously like her father's. _Even without the flowers, the trees, the comforts of a hobbit home? Even without the day-to-day sunshine? _

_Oh, no, of course I need that, _she couldn't help but respond. _But it's not as if those things are unavailable to me here. It's not as if the sun cannot stretch its luminescence to reach under the mountain._

_It hasn't yet. Not since Erebor was first born._

_Doesn't mean it never will._

Smiling, Billa then straightened as everyone else quieted and did the same, prepared as Thorin stood and looked at each of his suitors in turn. It was a tense, burning moment, until the king finally smiled and opened his mouth—

"—if I may, your highness. I actually have a message and decision of my own to give."

The statement made eyes, everywhere, snap to the dwarf who had spoken out of turn, and with wide eyes, Billa watched as Ithur stepped humbly forward, calm and composed for all to see.

Thorin closed his mouth, curiosity alight in his eyes as he nodded tightly. Ithur smiled. "I know today, that there shall be a winner and a loser—it has happened every week thus far, so I expect no difference today," he began. Then he cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly. "_However…_it has come to my attention that there _already is_, a…winner, of it all, among our midst."

Wait. A winner? Already? What?

Others gathered in the throne room to see this event began murmuring to one another in wonder, and Billa couldn't take her eyes off the dwarf's back as he continued. "As each of us—most of us already being dwarves—are aware, our kind loves only once." The head of blonde-brown hair nodded, as if to himself. "And, aware of this, it has always been my intention since the very start, that if I should see my king falling for another competitor in a submission of true budding love, then I have no place to hinder such a treasured occurrence."

From the other dwarves around them, there came several nods and quiet, murmured affirmations to the truth of Ithur's words—as well as curious glances that cast over both Bolg and Billa with renewed scrutiny. After all, which one of them was it that was getting closer and closer to their king? Which one should they expect, now, to see beside the throne one day?

(And it came as quite a shock to them that apparently, it wasn't going to be one of their own—that it wouldn't be a dwarf, but instead, some _other _creature. Was that good? Was it bad? What did that say about them as a people? What did that say about their _king_?)

Billa, in the meanwhile, could only stare, transfixed and touched by the dwarf's words, hardly aware of this commotion at all. She just listened, even as he went on, bowing slightly.

"With that being said…I wish to bow out of the competition in respect to my better."

What…?

"May you both have all the happiness, and may the entire kingdom of Erebor—dwarves, man, hobbits, and orcs alike—flourish under your combined rule, as I _know_, with greater certainty than ever before, having _seen _your capabilities this week, and heard of your triumphs the two weeks previously, they will."

Turning to the entire crowd, Ithur then muttered, "So trust me—in one week more, you all will be in very good hands. Even better, I believe, than my own."

And then, just as he finished turning and the crowd began to disperse to go and swarm Ithur with warmth, affection, praise and admiration for his selfless act, Billa's eyes met with her competitors for a rare, brief moment—a single second, at that—but it was all she needed. That single glance of a smile and nod was all she needed in order to see that his words had been for her benefit, in support of her pursuit of his highness.

And that he thought _she _was capable of being queen.

It meant far too much. Billa thought she might melt, might be overwhelmed—possibly faint. She wasn't quite sure what to do with all of those kind words and in response to someone who was quitting the competition just for her sake, really—so she could only stare. Stare, transfixed, awed, touched, and…speechless.

Yet when he nodded again at her—this time, in deeper reverence—with a low angle to his bent head—Billa realized she could recognize that gesture from one of the dwarven customs Ori had taught her.

It was a rare sign of respect—one only given to those who were crowned royalty.

And aimed at her.

_Her_, a regular hobbit, who didn't always know what she was doing; was only trying to be happy and trying to do the right thing when she could. She wasn't—she didn't—did he really think so highly of her?

_And worse—do I deserve it?_

Billa couldn't answer that.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Gais. ;A; You're...too amazing. _Too freakin' amazing. _I have received SO many kind, encouraging words about my financial situation from last chapter, and I just...I can't. Honestly, that means so much and I can't get over how nice all of you are. ;A;

And not only that, but dude! Over 240 reviews! This...this is far more than I have ever anticipated and far more than I have ever received before.

This is my longest story, as of now. Not in word-count, but in chapters, and to be honest, that scares me. ;A; Because I hiatus'd my other story that reached 14 chapters. This one's now at 16. ;A; And I really, really don't want to drop this, so I can't thank you guys ENOUGH for all of your support! It has just been incredible! It has been SO encouraging, and SO amazing, you guys completely make my days with every word you say! ;A; So thank you. Thank you SO MUCH.

I love you all. ;A; Enjoy, and have a wonderful day!


	17. Here's How it Deepens

Because of Ithur's interruption of the normal proceedings, the castle was briefly in disorder about what to do for the dinner that night which had traditionally, always been with the winner of the event. Now, however, that one of the competitors had backed out before the winner had even been announced, it seemed quite pointless to announce who had won and who had lost, seeing as how they would both be going on to the next week, anyway.

So they decided to have a regular dinner instead with everyone gathered: the company, the king and the two remaining competitors. Even Ithur was invited to join them out of respect for his actions.

Billa, meanwhile, didn't know where to sit until she saw Ithur take his own place at the table. Unexpectedly, then, she felt something swell inside her and quickly, without another thought, she joined his side in a flourish.

Ithur, himself, merely smiled as she took the seat beside him. "What, not going to sit with the king this evening?"

Billa's eyes flickered over to Thorin, who was busy getting an earful from a nervous Balin, holding a rolled piece of parchment in his clenched hands. No, she didn't quite want to get in the way of whatever was happening over there…not quite yet, at least. "You bent your head at me," she then uttered, returning her gaze back to him curiously.

Ithur merely hummed, reaching for his goblet which had just been filled. "Aye. That I did," he responded after a sip.

Billa could only gape at him in awe. "B-but…why? I—I'm not even _queen_. I haven't…Bolg is still—"

"—to tell you the truth, Miss Baggins," Ithur muttered, placing his goblet back on the table and fixing his eyes on her in such a serious, mirthless gaze that the hobbit lost her words. "I consider myself a happy, friendly dwarf. There are not many people who tread the roads of Erebor that I do not like. However, I must say that that orc is one of the few who I…" He sighed, as if slightly sad he even felt this way, but continued anyway, "…I just do not _trust_ him. He clearly does not want the consortship of Thorin because he at all feels affection for him; he wants the _power. _Of that, I am sure."

Billa's eyes flickered again to Thorin, her stomach suddenly churning with violent, protective worry. "R-really? Is Thorin aware of this…?"

"Oh, yes, he's probably quite aware—but more so, he probably understands." Ithur sighed again, picking at the bread on his plate. "That's the thing about our dwarf king. He understands that Bolg is an _incredible _leader, both in battle and in politics—and even if having such a companion did not ensure for himself romantic attachments, he would still be okay with it, if only because it would be good for the kingdom."

The churning became a sudden ache that seized Billa's chest, constricting and painful, throbbing as she couldn't take her eyes off of the king. "…To sacrifice happiness, love, to have such a person all for the sake of a protected people…" she murmured in touched awe.

_Now, could _I _do that? Could _I_ protect them?_

Billa felt a hand softly cover her own and squeeze encouragingly. Startled, she looked back up at Ithur's face and saw him gazing with surprising, overflowing confidence at her. "But do not lose heart because I _meant _what I said when I believe _you _are the one who should sit upon that throne, at his side."

The hobbit swallowed, throat suddenly tight. "…but…but why…? I…" Here she laughed bitterly, quietly, as if reprimanding herself for gaining so much hope after the smooth week. "…oh, I know not how to fight, Ithur. I could not…" She shook her head, eyes drifting down, to the side, examining the wood table beneath her arms. "…I could not lead an army to war…"

Sighing shortly, quickly, she then turned, slid her hand away from the dwarf's grasp and intertwined her fingers together in her lap as she stared at him imploringly. "Ithur, you have placed such faith in me—even so much as to actually back out of the running for my sake—and for the life of me, I cannot fathom why. In fact, so many people do—so many believe in me—but I—I can't…" Her mouth gaped for the words, and finally, she could only bring herself to utter, "I'm just a _hobbit."_

Ithur hummed again, eyes scrutinizing her carefully as he did so. "…you did not seem so unsure of yourself and your identity this entire week. What has caused such uncertainty in you now?"

"I…" Billa closed her mouth once, before sighing again.

A soft pause.

"…I…I guess I…forgot…for a while…" she finally murmured, quiet and slow. Slightly regretful. "I forgot that there's another part to this race…" Eyebrows painfully arching downward, she slowly slumped in fatigue. "I forgot that it isn't just Thorin I'm trying to win…there's a whole _kingdom _of people who would be my responsibility—and to be honest, when I'm reminded of that…" The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "…w-well…I'm so _small…_you know…? I don't know my hands are big enough for—"

"—tell me, do you love him?"

The question was startling—but even more startling was the fact that Billa didn't have any struggle answering, turning to look the dwarf at her side in the eye as she answered calmly and assuredly with no hesitance.

"Yes."

Ithur smiled and nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Well, there you go."

Billa straightened, shocked, and more than ever, confused. "I…what—?"

"—like you said yourself, you're a hobbit." He said it as if it were the most obvious, most easiest thing to understand—and as if it explained everything. But Billa only gazed dumbly at him, which prompted him to continue gently and knowingly, "And if there is one thing I've learned about your kind both from the delightful afternoon I spent there two weeks ago, and from you, yourself, it's that you halflings have a very different definition of 'love' than I have ever known before."

He turned his gaze away to the far opposite wall as he then muttered, "It is both quite frightening, and equally amazing because it is a far more powerful love than I have ever known love to be before…and I, myself, am even a dwarf—it is no secret how we love our One passionately."

Ithur chuckled, and the corner of the hobbit's mouth twitched upwards in shared amusement, before he quickly grew somber again. "But truly…your version of love is incredible. Sometimes, it is painful, because it requires you to do the things which are always right or good _for _your lover—but may not always seem right or good _to_ them at the time. Yet your love…it runs far deeper than our blood-bound or rag-laid oaths. It moves me, little hobbit." Smiling openly at her, he muttered, "And I know that love of yours is not only for Thorin. Knowing you love him appeases me, yes, but the fact that there is not a fallen creature who you would not help—it is both of these kinds of love that you have that make me, as well as several others, believe that you are capable of being—and indeed, _should _be—queen."

Billa's mouth once again emptily gaped for words. Eventually, she could only find three. "…because I love…?"

"Because you love." Lifting his goblet once again, Ithur gestured it and a pointed finger at her in a sign for her to remember his next words. "And _that, _little hobbit,is a far more important ability than wielding a sword, or knowing how to fight a war. Note that."

* * *

_Thud. Thud. Slam. Stomp._

Silence.

"I thought you said she wouldn't win."

Azog didn't answer; in fact, he didn't even look at his son. Instead, he stood, arms crossed, mouth and chin set, dark eyes staring at the plans he had laid out before himself on the table in his room. He let the following silence stretch itself out—becoming coyly tight and festering the fierce anger-fire that burned in his son's veins—as he, himself, pondered and thought, considering his options.

Bolg, meanwhile, continued, shoulders nearly shaking with his irate fury. "You said she wouldn't win—you _said _that crown would be mine—and yet _here she is_, one of the final _two. _And in case you forgot, everything ends in a week; I already _know _the odds aren't in my favor. If we do nothing, she _will win."_

Still, his father said nothing. Merely stared. Merely calculated.

Bolg grit his teeth, the fire erupting into a volcano of lava and unrest at the silence and he struggled hard to keep himself from yelling, instead growling, "Are you even _listening _to me…?"

Nothing.

As it stretched, the molten cooled to hard, heavy rock. "F—"

"—do not touch her."

The warning was soft, surprising, slowly-uttered and Bolg found himself suddenly shaken from his righteous fury and into a dumb stupor as he stared disbelievingly—_hurt—_at his father. What—what was he saying…? "What?"

Finally, Azog moved, chest heaving a sigh as he clarified, "It is too dangerous by this point to try to hurt her chances of winning. That dwarf was right when he uttered that the king was falling for her. He _is _most likely going to choose her—and there will be nothing we can do about that other than appeal to him as best we can in whatever final challenge comes." His eyes darted to his son, hard and freezing as he added, "But do not think for a moment that our plans will fail if she wins. Contrariwise…it might actually work in our favor."

Bolg couldn't believe what he was hearing—couldn't understand how his father was so all right with not winning—it didn't make sense, but he braced himself anyway, forcing the trust. "How so…?"

Azog then grinned as if he had been waiting for that question, reaching forward and scratching a thin nail against his son's jaw, who hid and held back his wince against the rough touch. "You will see…in a week, you will see—and in time, so will everyone else. So patience," he nearly whispered, drawing out the slithering 's' phoneme as if in a serpentine vow. "Patience…our kind will wreak havoc on Middle-Earth once more very, very soon."

And Bolg couldn't help it. Despite his lingering worries, the orkish instinct within him suddenly crowed with ghoulish, howling delight.

_Yes._

* * *

Balin chased after his fuming king as he stomped down the hallways to his chamber. Unfortunately, there wasn't a break in his brisk pace, and the shorter, older dwarf found himself struggling to keep up with his smaller legs.

And then, of course, blessed Dori was there to help him up after a particularly bad trip, and together, they followed their king as he finally entered his room with a slam of the wooden door upon the wall, righting it at its place in the doorway before turning to him as he finally spoke, "What gives my cousin the right to tell _me _what to do? If he thinks he can come here and decide for me my queen or consort, he is sorely mistaken!"

Balin sighed, already recovered from the mad dash here. "He is only concerned for you—and to be honest, if I was not here, seeing everything that is happening, I would be, too. He hears you are considering only one dwarf for a mate. What else is he supposed to think?"

"He is supposed to _trust _me; I am _family,_ and I am an _adult._ Does it matter that a dwarf had only a third of a chance of winning? He has not heard yet that Ithur has bowed out, but he will in a few days—and what will he think then? Will he actually have the audacity to _come here _and rebuke me for no longer considering a dwarf for a companion? What does—does that even _matter_?" Thorin threw his arms to the sides in an open invitation for challenge.

Dori and Balin merely looked at one another, before sighing. "It might matter more than you think," Dori finally muttered, squaring his king's blue-grey eyes with his own dark browns.

And at his friend's careful, wise tone, some of the boiling anger finally slid out of the dwarf king, deflating in acknowledgement. Exhaling heavily, he dropped his arms and turned to the side, shaking his head. "…I am not an idiot. I know that it matters. I know there will be dwarves who will no longer trust the throne because it is for certain that my companion will not be one of our own."

Nodding in agreement, Balin piped up, "However, that is only of our fellow kinsman. There are other creatures under your rule, too, Thorin. And as far as the rumors of Nori's network has picked up on go—the humans are awfully fond of the hobbit. The orcs, of course, would be forever at your service if you chose Bolg—so it is not as if you would not have support if you chose one competitor or the other. It is just our own race that will be in disquiet."

Thorin sighed, rubbing his face. So much to think about; so many people's concerns to consider… "…do you think Dain will actually _come here_? He will bring more trouble than self-proposed solutions."

Another glance was shared between both Dori and Balin, before the latter uttered reluctantly, "I think it will be very likely he will make the journey here—especially once he hears that it is for certain that your future intended will either be a hobbit or an orc and not a dwarf. That…I believe…will not be sound news to him."

_It's not sound news to _any _other dwarf besides me and my company, apparently._

But Thorin merely pressed his lips together and nodded. "All right…all right. Then let's prepare chambers for him and his company, in preparation for his arrival later this week."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"You want to know what makes me really happy?"

Dis snorted from where she laid spread-eagled, face to the ceiling on her charge's bed. The hobbit herself sat at her desk, back turned to her attendant as she rolled the seeds over and over in her hands, examining their small contours and black edgings with a contented wonder. "That's an impossible question to answer, Halfling. Lots of things make you happy."

Billa flushed. "Well—b-but…well…maybe—but that's not wrong," she weakly defended herself.

There was an undeniably fond smirk in the she-dwarf's tone as she replied, "No. Not wrong," she huffed as she then sat up and regarded the sky beyond the balcony. "So go on, then. What's making you happy now?"

The hand holding the seeds clutched them tight, warmth filling every corner of the hobbit as she uttered in awe, "That I might actually have the chance to _plant _these." She bit her lip in excitement, finally turning around in her chair to see her dear friend. "You know? If—oh, if Thorin should chose me—I might actually be able to grow the tree with him. That's just…" Sighing in wonder, she leaned back in her chair, tilting her face to the ceiling. "…like a childhood dream being fulfilled…"

Dis chuckled. Ah. Yes, probably time to leave if she estimated the time correctly. "Careful, there. While I appreciate you genuinely loving my brother—there's a clear line between infatuation and obsession that you will not cross, yes?"

Billa flushed. "O-of course I wouldn't! It's just…" But finding a different way through which to make a different creature understand the sentiments behind such tree-growing experiences and aspirations was futile. So shaking her head, she finally just resorted to huffing, "…ugh! Dwarves. You'll just never understand what it means, I guess."

Dis grinned, laughing as she then slid off the bed and walked over, placing a hand on top of her charge's unruly, curly, nighttime-mussed locks of amber hair in gentle, assuring affection. "Probably not. But hey—doesn't mean we won't ever try." Smiling then at the equally-bright face that tilted back to grin up at her, Dis gave her head one final pat, before she turned and walked towards the door. "Well, I better be off. It's about that time of night—will you and Bombur be meeting again?"

"Oh!" Billa snapped her head to the night sky. "Oh! Yes! I completely forgot!"

Dis chuckled. "Better hurry up, then," she called, even as her charge already jumped to her feet and began to do just that, putting her seeds back in their small bag and wrapping her salmon covering over her nightgown as she padded over in a frenzied rush.

"Okay," she then panted upon reaching the dwarf's side. "Okay. Ready. Sorry."

But Dis was already shaking her head, reaching for the door handle as she chided, "It's not _me _you're supposed to be sorry towards—Bombur is the one who deserves your apo—"

The words failed her as she saw who was standing on the other side of the door, fists raised as if to knock.

And to be fair, it looked like they had quite suddenly lost their words, too.

(That is, until they recognized who it was holding the door open.)

"_M-mom_?!"

Dis swore and did the first thing she could think of.

She slammed the door back shut in their faces.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Sorry about the slow pace of this chapter and story at the moment! ;A; Unfortunately, things have to build until they get really busy and convoluted. Once there, we can then get to all the action that we want! 8D I do think that with the next chapter, we'll get back to the regular pace this story has taken so far. It's just that in this one, there had to be more dialogue than anything else. D:

So again, thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoyed! Have a wonderful, wonderful day!


	18. Here's How I Practice

"So now it has come to two."

"_Mom! Mom! Mom! You have to let us in there!"_

"_By Mahal, it's been _forever_!"_

"_Please open this door!"_

"_No! Get out of here!"_

"_But Dis—"_

"—_Moooooooooooom—"_

_Again came the swearing. Fast, multiple, profuse, and in frustration because _dang it. _Of course it would be her sons to first find her and reveal their secret. _Of course _those two idiots would be the ones, out of all the other hundreds of dwarves in the castle, to manage unveiling everything—and by complete accident, too! Of course, of course, of course._

_Stupid fate._

"I congratulate both of you in getting this far. Both of you have excelled in battling. Both of you have traveled the reaches of Erebor and met the different races, and both of you have proven well in ruling ability—but you have yet to prove the most important aspect of your worthiness for Thorin, and that is what this final week will test of you."

_With a reluctant sigh, Dis finally swung the door back open and let her two sons fall inside in a graceless, heavy tumble. Of course, she tried to swing it shut again immediately afterwards, however their sprawled feet were in the way, and only half-meaning to, she slammed it into their lower calves before uttering, "Lazy idiots; you're definitely your father's sons," before kicking their legs out of the way and then shutting the door quickly behind them._

"Your ability to be a companion to our king."

_The two then jumped to their feet, undaunted, and without preamble, practically launched themselves at their mother, wrapping their arms around her in a cornering embrace that the red-faced she-dwarf couldn't escape from no matter how hard she tried and hissed at them._

"_Mother, Mother, Mother—!"_

"—_oh, I've missed you! I thought you were in Ered Luin all this time! But you're not!"_

"_You've here! You're actually here!"_

"_And with Miss Baggins—of all people!"_

"_Oh, I do hope you've been nice to her—"_

"—_oh, yes, because if you haven't, you will have ten other dwarves to answer to—"_

_Dis huffed, finally giving up her struggle as she uttered crossly, "—I've been kind enough…" But after an awkward, knowing pause, she then glanced away and coughed, "…_lately._"_

_The other two laughed._

"That's right, this week tests your compatibility with our king to see if you can make _him _as happy as he makes _us. _And this will happen in two ways."

"_Oh, Mom, it's been too long!"_

"_You certainly haven't changed—"_

"—_well, perhaps changed a little bit—"_

"—_oh, you're quite right, Kili, I do detect a bit of a shift in Mother's demeanor—but all the same—"_

"—_will you two _cut that out," _Dis huffed, glaring at them as she finally wriggled out of their arms. She straightened her furs as she then muttered, "I suppose it's nice to see that _you _two haven't changed a bit. Still sticking your noses into places they don't belong?"_

_Two meek faces looked at her, and she sighed, the corner of her mouth finally twitching upward into a knowing smirk. "…as I expected…"_

"First, you will have a time to perform for the king and the company. Show-off for him—impress him—using your own skills and talents. You will have the rest of today and tomorrow to prepare for it. Then, second, you will each prepare a day of activities or 'vacation' for you and the king to embark upon on your selected days. You each will have the day after the 'talent show' to plan and prepare for this, and then Bolg's day will come first, with Miss Baggins' second."

"_But, but," Kili piped up, "You say _we _stick our noses where they don't belong—but you're doing the same thing, Mom! What are you doing here in Miss Baggins' room, huh?"_

"_Yeah, what's with that?" Fili asked, tossing a confused, puzzled look to the two women._

_Sharing a distraught glance, Dis sighed as Billa shifted, hands wringing one another as they let the awkward silence hanging among all four of them linger. _

_A second later, Kili had it figured out._

"Mom_? You're _helping _Miss Baggins? Isn't that—isn't that against the rules?" And since when could he ever remember his mother doing such a red-handed deed? Wasn't it usually the other way around—_she _always catching _them _doing something naughty? What had happened to Middle-Earth that it would turn so far around?_

_Dis frowned, furrowing her eyebrows at them. "W-well—"_

"—_which, we totally approve of, by the way," Fili added in an undertone, quickly recovering from his own initial shock and grinning as he nudged her with his elbow. _

_Kili nodded with fastly-regained confidence and Dis scoffed at them, rolling her eyes. "You two. I swear, I must've done something wrong with you to have messed you up so badly. What are _you_ doing here, anyway? Isn't visiting with the competitors this late at night against the rules as well?"_

_Fili snickered back, leaning towards Kili as he muttered, "Well, if so, then Bombur and Billa have been breaking the rule ever since week one…"_

_Billa flushed behind them. "Wait! H-how did you know about that?"_

"Remember, this particular week is to see how you can care for and appeal to the king himself. It should not include anything else but how well you can love him."

"_Nori has eyes everywhere," Kili nodded sagely._

_Dis reprimanded classically. She bonked both of them on the back of the head. _

_After that, they quickly swore that they would tell no one else what they knew. With fierce nods and even a four-way handshake that somehow looked more like an all-in team huddle, the two then even agreed to help Billa as much as they could like their Mother was. And although Billa was very flattered, she did try to assert for them that she would do as much as she could this week on her own._

"_After all, it's _me _who is trying to woo him. Not you guys."_

"_Yeah, but we can give you hints!"_

"_Hints are okay, right?"_

_A small smile betrayed Billa's sternness. "Well, yes. Hints are, I suppose, okay. But that's all. I want to be able to win him on my own, by my own pursuit. Got it?"_

"_Got it." Nod, nod._

_Billa's smile grew. "Good."_

"That is all."

* * *

"So…let me get this straight: for the talent-show, you're going to dance?"

Fili's sudden voice broke both Billa and Ori's concentration. Kili merely sighed, letting his fiddle fall from his shoulder, dangling loosely in his grasp as he glared at his elder brother. The blonde dwarf merely shrugged back, adding, "I mean…I just was confused, because…you know dancing isn't something us dwarves normally do, remember?"

Billa exhaled, letting her arms drop as well from where they had been raised, angled and perched for expression and lines. Or at least, an attempt to form such things. "Yes, I remember…but it _is _a talent show, and to be honest, there isn't much more I know how to do than…dancing."

"You know how to cook!" Kili piped up brightly. "And very well, might I add."

"Mmm…hobbit-cooking…" Fili hummed.

The hobbit sent them a grateful glance, smiling, straightening her back as she turned and rounded her arms in front of her, tossing her head shortly side-to-side to flex her neck and relax her anxious muscles. "Well, thank you—I'm glad you think so—but truly, watching someone cook is not the most exciting or stimulating thing."

The two brothers shared an amused glance behind her back. Ori merely gripped his flute worriedly.

"'Stimulating,' you say?" Fili practically cooed.

"Is _that _what you want to do to our uncle?" Kili added, grinning.

"You two are awful," Billa replied without missing a beat and without malice. The two dwarves sniggered, undaunted. "But no, what I want is to…well…_awe _him, I suppose. Impress him." With a quick, swift inhale and exhale, she then commanded of them, "Now, let's start again. But try a different tone, if you can, Ori. Something…soft."

Ori hummed to himself, tapping fingers and kegs on his flute as he considered this request; considered what key and order of notes would work best to try next. "You want something…artful, too, right?" he asked carefully, clarifying. "Intriguing, because you want to 'awe' him, like you said…"

Billa tossed him a pleased, delighted smile over her shoulder as Kili and Fili raised their fiddles back under their chins. "That would be what I'm aiming for, yes, so that sounds wonderful. Whatever is within your ability to improv and remember for later—for tomorrow—when the presentation is. It doesn't have to be complicated," she then hurriedly added. "In fact, I'd prefer if it isn't, because I don't think I've ever tried to use hobbit-dancing in an…_artful _form. But all the same, I'd like to be able to try. Y'know. A first for everything."

The three dwarves grinned knowingly at one another, before nodding and posing for beginning again.

"I think I've got just the thing for you," Ori then murmured, before he began to blow and let his stream-lined silver instrument sing.

And what came next, Billa remembered would be like breathing. Soft, slow, gentle and flowing.

Simple.

A stretch here, an angle, point, and shift there. A lean, an arch, a sigh, a turn, a bend, a flex, a spin, a step, a lower, a reach, a raise.

_Yes. _

This was it, she discovered. This language she was discovering through slow movements of heart and silent desire, aching want but with all those longings of her soul repressed to meek, sleek and poised request—this was what she wanted to perform for Thorin, for the king. This is what she wanted him to see, to feel.

This is the part of her soul she was willing to show. To possibly, one day, share.

_Like my little myrtle tree._

"Oh!" she called, suddenly breaking them off in the middle of the practice. Startled to silence, the dwarves looked at her curiously as she hurriedly exclaimed, "I think I've got it! I think I've got it! Let's try it again! Same thing! Quick! Oh!"

And as she excitedly grinned at them, she was met with three other bright matching smiles, each of whom were as eager as her to start over. It only made her heart sing more.

* * *

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—where do you think _you _two are going?"

Thorin stared in suspicion and reprimand at his two nephews, who had been slunking down the hallway in a stealthless, hurried rush. Now, of course, having been caught, they just looked at him in a petrified, frozen stance.

It was a moment of silence before Kili suddenly answered, "Nothing!"

Fili struck his brother in the ribs with his elbow, but picked up where he left off, correcting quickly, "Absolutely no_where_—"

"—well, uh—yeah! But, we don't really mean _nowhere_—" Kili shoved his brother back.

"—yeah, because that kinda sounds _stupid,_ doesn't it?" Fili gritted and shoved again.

"Totally—um—no—actually—we were…um…just about to head to the…uh…"

"…_kitchens_!" Fili finally announced, brightly and just as relieved as his brother once the word was said. "Yes, the kitchens! That's where we're off to!"

Kili nodded frantically, dark black locks dancing and jingling with the movement. "Yeah! Just to grab a snack! 'Cuz, y'know, us growing dwarves get awfully hungry! While we're…growing! And…all!"

"Oh, yeah, all the time! Growing! And hungry! Constantly!"

Thorin merely lowered his eyes at them, doubt clouding his eyes. It only made them hurry their exit all the more, both of them practically stumbling over each other in their haste to get away from their uncle's scrutinizing and rather scary look.

"Yeah, well," Kili tried to pardon them. "We're real hungry, Uncle Thorin!"

"Yeah—_reaaaaal _hungry!"

"So we'll see you later—around—and stuff—okay—?"

"—yeah! Bye!"

And without another word, the two bumbled off, disappearing quickly down the corridor in their frenzied, clumsy dash.

Thorin merely humphed as he watched them leave. "…that's strange…" But ultimately, he shrugged and moved on—too busy to be bothered with the daily, unusual mischief his two nephews were clearly up to at that point in time. Too busy right then, anyway.

* * *

The midnight meetings had never been so fun. After a hearty conversation in Billa's bedroom and Dis was required to leave, Kili and Fili finally decided to actually make true on their comment to their uncle about heading to the kitchens, accompanying their hobbit friend down for her and Bombur's nightly tradition of snackery.

It was probably too loud, and it probably hurt Billa's abs far more than she needed them to be for her performance tomorrow—but the hobbit couldn't care, really. The laughing was worth it—especially when shared among such close friends as those she had.

"We should do this every night with you and Bombur," Kili couldn't help but tell her that evening, or, more appropriately, morning.

Billa smiled brightly in response to him and his brother, giving both of them a kiss on the cheek in thanks for the delightful, happy evening. "I think that'd be wonderful. Bombur and I would both be honored if you should join us. So please do. Please, please do."

Flushed and pleased, the two nephews nodded ferociously. "Anything for you, Miss Baggins!" they then chimed in harmony.

And Billa couldn't help but modestly, delightedly giggle.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **So! 8D Did anyone notice what I did at the beginning, there? Switching things up? Instead of Balin's announcements happening in the italics-identified past, they're happening in the present with the events or other goings-on happening in the past? 8D Eh? Eh? Like? Hate?

Anyway! In other news! GUYS. I have more than 300 follows! YOU GUYS. I CAN'T. I CAN'T FIND WORDS. ;A; I...I honestly can't. 300 follows...? This is...I'm staring at those numbers and I don't know if I can comprehend the magnitude. The awesomeness.

You guys are incredible. ;A; Far...far more amazing than I could have ever hoped for. Honestly. Thank you. Thank you so much.

Please enjoy. ;A; And have a wonderful, wonderful day.


	19. Here's My Heart

She made it so easy—oh, _so _easy to ruin her.

And what Bolg would have _given_ in order to do so.

He could spread the rumor she was getting _too _friendly with the other members of the company—that could be easily believed, especially once he got several witnesses to see first-hand her late-night meetings with Bombur—and even Kili and Fili, who had the audacity to _enter her bedroom_, as he had seen last night.

Oh, it would have been as simple task—_so _simple to claim that she was allowing others into her bed. That she was spreading her legs at night for a sigh, a cry.

And not only that—but that the king's own sister was aiding her in this competition? Such tactics of cheating—he could reveal that. Oh, he could out her as a liar—he could, and would, even, _gladly_ cause her demise.

But Azog had said not to touch her.

And despite what he wanted, Bolg would obey his father. Even while his fingers and lips itched torturously, wishing to leap at the chance to destroy that ugly little halfling in every way she deserved.

(Because oh, she _would _be destroyed—she _would_. And at that time, Bolg would take every delight in snapping her tiny, white little neck, watching her limbs writhe and squirm as she futilely tried to escape, a gasping, wet scream tearing itself from her crimson-coated, spilling mouth—)

—_Later._

Coming to halting, desperate grips with control, the orc panted in frustration, fist flying out to pound into the wall beside him and chipping away grey-spun stone.

…_later. Soon, but later. _

He just had to wait.

* * *

Billa's heart beat fast, even as she tried to sit as still as possible. That wasn't very easy, though—not when she felt sick and queasy and terribly unconfident the more and more she could hear Thorin and some of the other dwarves cheering and clapping for whatever show Bolg was performing for them. It must have been good, she knew. It must have been entertaining, exhilarating—especially to even get such responses from Dwalin, who she could hear in there.

And oh, that made her _terribly _nervous—because she wasn't going at all for that kind of adrenaline-pumping show. No—hers was…oh, it was rather subtle and stupid, wasn't it? Just spinning and stretching and turning and reaching? Maybe dancing wasn't the right idea…

"D-Dis, I think I might—"

"—if you throw up on me, I will punch you."

Oh. Okay, then. Billa fidgeted slightly, folding her clammy hands together and letting the ribbons wrapped around her wrists bunch themselves in her lap. Dis sighed at that, rocking back on her haunches as she lifted the glittered-paintbrush she had been holding away from her charge's decorated face. "And I _told _you, stop moving. I'm going to mess up if you do that."

"S-sorry. I'm just…" The tense, bunched shoulders only relaxed slightly with the next exhale. "…sorry."

The she-dwarf softened. "Are you _really_ that nervous?" she murmured, continuing to dot small gem-like circles above the lower arches of her eyes. "It's just one of those modified sunshine-dances of yours; don't you hobbits do that all the time?"

"W-well, _yes, _but, not…not in this…allegorical sense. With the sunshine-provider _not _being the actual sun in the sky…" Groaning, Billa nearly covered her face with her hands until she heard Dis hiss loudly and pull the two appendages away in an effort to preserve her work. So she closed her eyes once again, letting the dwarf continue as she uttered, "…oh, Dis, what if he doesn't get it? What if it's a stupid idea? Dwarves don't dance—I don't know if he'll appreciate it—"

Dis snickered, finishing the other eye as she then added curved lines and arches at the edges of the hobbit's eyes. "—well, he might _not _understand what you're trying to say, I'll be honest. I know I didn't like it when you called my brother dim-witted, but I have to say, you were right on target, anyway. He's not always the sharpest sword in the armory, so the meaning might go way past him."

Billa sighed in distress, even as the dwarf finally put down the paint to add two small amethysts in the middle of a particularly larger swerve in her artwork high on her subtle cheekbones—a perfect middle-ground between the large blue of her charge's eyes and the brown-red rust of her hair. Then, more small jewels were added—horizontal tear-drops of opals on either side of her eyes, accentuated by tiny emeralds glittering between the dots above her eyes. The painting then resumed, this time directly on her eyelids, for an eye-lining of gold.

And as she carefully lined her charge's eyes with the shimmering paint, Dis added as well, "But I wouldn't assume he won't appreciate it. Because believe you me, I think he most definitely will."

Billa tried not to nod, so murmured quietly instead, "Oh, I hope so…"

Dis was clearly smirking. "He will. Now shut up. I need to do your cheeks and mouth and can't do that while you're talking."

Billa winced, but did indeed keep quiet, listening and waiting as she continued to overhear the responses to Bolg's show. The growing worry-knot in her stomach slowly stretched and expanded the more and more time went on, until Dis was finally finished, Bolg was finally finished, and Kili and Fili had come to get her for her turn to perform after the orc had cleared out.

Perhaps it should have given her comfort to see that they had been dumbfounded the instant they saw her ("By Mahal…")—her and her braided hair curved around the right side of her head into a curled elegant end, bunched at the back left side of her head; her and her make-up and jewels glittering her face and jaw-line in a dazzling shimmer—but she didn't notice it. Not while she could feel the cold marble so sharply beneath her bare, hobbit-feet and hear her heart pounding loud and throaty in her ears.

No, her consciousness had been reduced to simple movements. She entered the room, stood in the center, and waited in a horrified daze as Fili, Kili and Ori got themselves ready.

She could barely move. She could barely breathe—she barely remembered that she was supposed to start sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest, in a tiny ball—a _bud_, it was supposed to represent—but she was glad she did, hurriedly getting into position as she hid her face behind her knees, careful not to smudge the wondrous art Dis had put on her visage.

It was there, in that quiet sanctuary as the silence rang before her performance, that she forced herself to calm. _It's just for Thorin, _she reminded herself._ It's just for Thorin. No one else matters. Remember what you wanted to show him yesterday—what you were so eager to tell him without any words at all. _

_Focus. You can do this. It's just you and Thorin._

_Just Thorin and I._

_Just us._

And the want came.

As the song began, Billa opened into beginning, her eyes meeting her king's.

And what came next, Billa remembered, would be like breathing.

* * *

Dis paced.

Anxiety wasn't a feeling she knew quite well. Actually, they weren't even on a familiar, first-name basis. She wasn't used to its presence, its flittering, jumpy tautness in her chest and stomach.

Yet she couldn't believe that she was feeling this much anxiety _for __someone else_.

And in the room where she had prepared Billa and where Kili and Fili had agreed to meet them in order to fetch the hobbit for her turn before the king, she strained her ears to listen and hear what comments or cheers her brother or his company might give in response to her performance.

However, she wasn't sure what to think of it when all she heard beyond the strings of her sons and Ori's flute, was nothing at all.

Not a word, not a sound, not a cough, not a sneeze, not a grunt, not a sigh.

Just silence.

Silence wasn't very easy to read.

* * *

Blue stared into greyer hues of its matching soul as the performance reached its end. Paused, back arched, arm curved around her front as she was half-turned away, the beloved and lover looked at its other and felt the twine of a deep undercurrent sew the two together. Silent, thrumming, thick, connecting. It was as if someone had struck the lowest cord on a bass, and let the resonance resound free within the core of their being, harmonious and strong, echoing off the lumpy caverns of their ribcages till they could memorize the frequency and pitch as familiar as the other's name.

Slowly, their breaths synchronized into one.

(It was as easy as breathing.)

* * *

"So…what did you think of the hobbit, Thorin?"

An empty silence greeted Balin once the other dwarves of the company had left. Unlike the others who were leaving to get ready for dinner (or have a spar or two before then—however those orders of events usually got switched around), the two remained, sitting in the aftermath of the talent they had just witnessed.

And he had already heard his king's estimation of Bolg's show: it had been entertaining. Exciting. Orkish skill and talent with blades as black as ebony, smooth, sharp and gleaming in the firelight was always a treat for dwarven eyes. They had all actually enjoyed it, in the end, getting caught up in the display of might and muscles and talent in a way that was as traditional to dwarves as their mountain-laden kingdoms.

But then there was the _hobbit._

And the hobbit…well, how do you describe everything she _was _and what she had just _done_?

(Because it wasn't as if it couldn't be explained. No, it was not as if there were no words for her and her dance. The problem just lied in picking the right, spot-on ones, because no less than the perfect, most fitting choices would do.)

"…it was like the after-rain wind…"

Balin blinked at his king, frowning slightly. "The after-rain wind…?"

But Thorin was frowning as well, as if trying to describe the remnants of emotion still fragmented within his limbs, pinning him into place by their jagged, raw thickness. Finally, after a long period of silence, he just shook his head. "Like when the sky is still grey, and the clouds churn, but the trees are whispering…" A sigh, deep and long slid from him, and with hesitancy, the king raised his head as his eyes calculated unknown, unfactorable figures. "…I feel as if I am…newborn…after a storm…"

The silence lingered on.

And then, eventually, Balin understood. It came as a startling revelation—yet part of him suspected this all along, so it wasn't a complete surprise—however, all the same, he smiled kindly and clasped an arm to his friend's shoulder. "A newborn after a storm, hm…?"

Thorin shrugged. "It is the closest I can get to what…what still remains within me."

The elder, other dwarf merely hummed in careful thought, patting the arm that he had clasped with gentle understanding.

* * *

The sun fell, night came, and routine went about its usual duty.

Yet Thorin, king of might and strength, ruler under the mountain, remained restless. He paced within his room, he paused; he stood at the edge of his balcony, staring out into the abyss of black-gradient night. He waited. Unsure for what, but waited all the same.

His soul was…in disquiet.

And it was the strangest thing, too, because he could never remember before feeling like this. Not even with his previous wife—not ever while meeting her, not ever in courting her, not ever in marrying her. No, this—this amount of…whatever-it-was-that-made-him-feel-discordant was startlingly nascent. Startlingly unfamiliar and strange and uncomfortable, as if someone shoved a cubed and angular object roughly inside his ribs, but hadn't put it there right—hadn't cared to—just forced it in errantly and haphazardly.

He had to fix it. Had to make it right within his being. Had to…had to…

…had to what…?

"I…" The truth was…equally startling. "…I don't know…"

So he stood.

He stood once more at the doorway of his balcony, dressed in his nightclothes and gazed outside, letting the wind blow on his face and lift his braids and hair in gentle guidance as he tried to quiet his raging, roaring, uncertain and nameless entity of tidal-wave…_somethings _that still thrummed alive inside him.

And then…he let go.

King Thorin let go and let his feet take him where his heart desired to go.

And he found her only a moment later.

* * *

It was as if someone had called her name.

The hobbit wouldn't ever be able to recall exactly what had told her someone was there. All she knew was that one minute, she had been laughing with Kili, Fili and Bombur, eating and huddled as they were at the doorway to the kitchens, and the next, she knew Thorin was there, and found herself looking at him back in modestly-abashed wonder.

In fact, so did Kili, Fili and Bombur the instant they realized their king was standing there, staring at them and barely concealed in the shadow of night, what with his burning eyes and boding presence.

All of a sudden, the three became terrified.

"Uncle Thorin!" Kili squeaked. "Um—how did you—um—"

"—w-we told the truth, didn't we?!" Fili stressed. "We're here at the kitchens! Haha…ha…"

But Thorin didn't seem to pay them any heed. Instead, he stared, transfixed and focused on the hobbit before him, and Billa could only stare back, oddly terrified and oddly…enraptured into dumbed, awed silence.

So when the dwarf finally muttered, "…may I speak with you alone?" the hobbit merely and barely nodded and let him take her wherever he desired to go.

The three other dwarves looked on in shock, watching as they left, before turning in dumbfounded silence to one another once the two were out of sight and out of hearing as they still tried to recover from the spectacle they had just witnessed. It seemed as if they had missed something vital out of that conversation that only those two had recognized, and the omission, slight though it may have been, left them reeling.

"…so wait, what just happened?"

"…I don't know, Kili…" Fili uttered honestly, as dazed and confused as his brother. "I…I don't know."

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **I was debating about where to end it, because I have the next chapter already written, but I eventually decided upon this point. 8D Because it just...worked best, I guess, especially with everything that is happening next chapter...which is a lot. ;A; And trust me, it's a _lot_.

SPEAKING OF WHICH. Guys. ;A: Next chapter is 20. Next chapter is freakin' number _20. _I don't think I even _fathomed _that this thing would get this long...so to celebrate, I'm going to make next chapter special. 8D It's gonna be WAY longer than usual, have a song in it, and be FLUFFY-FLUFF-FLUFF FILLED. JUST FOR YOU GUYS.

(And because it's chapter 20. 8D Y'know. Because I'm just so excited that I've made it this far.)

ALSO, for Billa's song that she danced to for Thorin, I suppose I always imagined her dancing to "Fi's Farewell" from the _Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword. _It just fits that mysterious, light, airy mood that I've been picturing her to dance to and entrance our dwarf king with. 8D So...yes. If you want something to listen to to imagine her dance, listen to that.

Thank you very much for all your love, guys! ;.; Honestly. Thank you so so so so so so so SO much. You guys have been the most DELIGHTFUL audience I have EVER written for, and I mean that! It fills me with such joy to update for you all, and I just...can't express how much I love you and appreciate your loyalty to this. ;.; So thank you.

Hope you enjoyed, and have a wonderful, wonderful day!


	20. Here's My Turning Page

**WARNING: **Um...nothing to be afraid of, really. 8D But I did want to inform those who might be particularly stingy about sexual references that there _is _a reason this story is rated "T." In this chapter, there will be a small bit of a particularly unfortunate situation that may make some people...uncomfortable, I suppose? It's nothing too graphic (at least, I worked very hard to keep it not graphic), so it shouldn't be too big of a problem, but I thought I'd warn you guys just in case, for those few who may not want to read anything of that more sexually-inclined nature, that there is a _teeny _bit here of it. 8D

Now, with that said, thank you for your attention! Enjoy chapter 20!

* * *

"Why did you bring me here…?"

Billa gazed around once, pulling her salmon covering closer to her body in a nervous self-embrace as she spun and took in the chamber which had acted, earlier that day, as their personal talent-show room. Her eyes traced the stone flooring, marble and smooth, reflecting the firelight that Thorin started up as he paced across and lit the lanterns and candlestands. Almost subconsciously, her eyes trailed to the spot where she had danced earlier that day—and hoped, almost, really, that this sudden meeting wasn't about that…because if it was, well, okay, that might have been okay, but she really didn't want to hear about him not liking her dance or anything—

"I want you to teach me how."

…what?

Billa stared at him in an empty loss for words and conceptualization as she watched him near after his journey to light the room and felt his fierce eyes gaze at her powerfully as if searching her heart and soul. Her mouth parted in awed shock, trying to summon an answer, but all she could utter was the same word she had thought. "…what?"

"Teach me," Thorin implored, taking a step closer that seemed less like an advance, and more like a plead. "Teach me how you dance."

"W-why…?"

How could you answer that?

_I want to breathe again. I want to live again. I want to feel my chest expand with you and to fall with you…I want to inhale you and exhale you, a constant presence in my lungs, a thriving force by which I live…I want…I want…_

"…just…show me," he finally grunted, as if pained.

And it took a while to answer. Billa looked at him for a long, long moment, before she finally and hesitantly found the courage to nod, eyes dancing everywhere around the room before finally landing on the dwarf king again as she consented, "O-okay, well…um…I guess there is one that both female and male hobbits do together, so, um—we can…we can do that, I suppose—if…if you want."

Yes.

Oh, yes.

And when the hobbit then tentatively offered her hand, the dwarf king took it with the greatest reverence.

* * *

**(I've waited a hundred years,  
And I'd wait a million more for you…)**

* * *

_Step. Step, slide, and spin._

"Ow—"

"—sorry."

Billa laughed, turning with bright eyes to her king. "No worries. We'll just try again."

And again.

And again.

* * *

**(Nothing prepared me for,  
What the privilege of being yours would do.)**

* * *

"Now you're beginning to get it!"

"Ha, don't sound too optimistic. That's only the first part."

"W-well, maybe…but you're a fast learner."

Thorin gave her a look. Billa merely laughed. And perhaps without intending to, he pulled her closer.

* * *

**(If I had only felt the warmth within your touch.  
If I had only seen how you smile when you blush.)**

* * *

_Step. Step, slide and spin._

Is this what it was like?

It was unlike anything Thorin had known. It wasn't hard, it wasn't grueling. It was soft, it was gentle. It was moving and flowing, it was falling and rising. In this moment, it was hard to distinguish reality from what he felt within his bones. Where they truly a hobbit and a dwarf here in this room, now, together? Or were they a river? Were they tributaries meeting and conjoining into a great rushing symphony? Were they the waves of an ocean, breaking upon the banks of sand and arching and sighing and reaching and receding?

He didn't know if he could tell. He didn't feel himself.

Yet oddly enough, that wasn't terrifying.

* * *

**(Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough.)**

* * *

Slowly, the oddly-shaped and forcefully lodged object in Thorin's chest finally slid into clicking place, easing its way into a hole that had been shaped for it all along as they swayed and altered course, stepping in time and unison, all lines and angles—stylistic life in motion.

Finally, everything within him was contentedly at peace.

* * *

**(I would have known what I was living for…)**

* * *

Once more, blue stared into greyer hues of its matching soul as they danced. Arms over arms, skin tingling where they touched and embraced the other, so close as they were—far closer than they'd ever been—at least, since their argument which felt as if it had occurred ages ago—but this was different. This wasn't heated. This wasn't fueled by pumping bloodflow.

This was swaying and spinning and simply _being. _So intertwined, so delicately connected by a spell of existence, now that they had found the other.

This was…

* * *

**(…what I've been living for.)**

* * *

Blue met its grayer hues, and smiled in genial warmth.

* * *

"Ithur, m'boy, you don't look as disappointed as I thought you would be."

"Ha…that's because I'm not, Mother. Strange as it is."

"Oh, but you had been so excited when you were one of the five…"

"I was, yes…" A soft, peculiar hum. "…and I had been. But the longer time went on, the more I realized I wasn't his One. And that was all right—it's perfectly fine, even, because eventually, I realized I didn't even want to be; it's not my place."

"But do you truly believe it's one of the other two's place, then? Even if they're not dwarves?"

Ithur grinned, knowingly and mysteriously. "Yes. _Especially _because they're not a dwarf."

The words would spread like wildfire, giving people hope and faith, willingness to trust where previously, they had none.

* * *

**(Your love is my turning page,  
Where only the sweetest words remain…)**

* * *

The next two days flew by.

Billa felt she had barely enough time to scramble together an idea for their day-out—which she tried _so _hard not to call a "date" like Kili and Fili kept sing-songingly putting it. (And when she asked them where they had gotten such a word for it, they blamed it on Melody, who…well... "How have you guys been talking to _Melody_?" "Like we said, Nori has eyes everywhere." "Yeah, and when we heard about how you two 'met,' we had to meet her, too, just to make sure she's changed and all…" "…yeah, y'know. Don't want her slapping you again." "Safety precautions, yeah?" "…I should've known.")

Yet when the time came for it, Billa hoped she had prepared all right. According to her three self-proclaimed 'advisors,' her idea would definitely be considered 'weird,' especially considering it was _her _suggesting it—but it should go over well. After all, it seemed far more fun and exciting than sitting around and talking all day or cooking all day or reading all day or…well, anything else, really. So at least that was a plus.

(And hopefully better than whatever Bolg had planned and so far executed.)

"Hiking?"

Billa tried not to remain nervous as she stood for what felt like the first time in a long time in her comfortable hobbit breeches, waistcoat and jacket, surrounded by two packed backpacks, one on either side of her, prepared for their trip.

She flushed hard at Thorin's high, raised-eyebrow gaze, and quickly tried to assure him despite how nervous she, herself felt (for she, as a respectable hobbit, had never gone hiking before; but it was all for him, she reminded herself; all for him). "Yes! H-hiking, um…I had thought it would be good, to…y'know…get out for a bit. And…and see the Lonely Mountain for it's…um…natural grandeur…instead of being cooped up inside…all day…"

"You did, huh…?"

It took a minute, a long, torturous, agonizing minute, because Billa was very afraid she had selected the wrong way for them to spend their time together—but then, when the corner of the king's mouth twitched upward in delighted amusement, something in her soul finally sighed in relieved, happy bliss. "A-all right, then…if that is what you have planned. I trust lunch is packed as well?"

"Y-yes," Billa nodded quickly. "I, um…took the liberty of making it myself, so…I do hope you enjoy it."

The coal-blue met sky and smiled more warmly than before. "In that case, yes. I do indeed look forward to trying whatever you have prepared."

And together as they were with only Balin, Dori, Gloin and Oin present, it came as quite a surprise (yet, perhaps not that much) when they then heard a familiar, distant sing-song hiss of, "You're going to _love _it!" come from somewhere unknown, hidden in the shadows of the room.

Billa about died as Thorin merely tilted his head to the sky and sighed.

_Of course. Those two._

* * *

**(Every kiss is a cursive line;  
Every touch is a redefining phrase.)**

* * *

"This is the first time you've ever done this, isn't it?"

Billa tried not to squeak in surprise as she stumbled yet again and reached desperately to grab onto the nearest tree branch as her hairy (and now quite dirty) hobbit feet regained their balance. "W-what? No! I've…" But the look the dwarf king gave her quickly made her submit to humble, meek honesty. "…i-it's that obvious, huh…?"

Thorin only snickered, his balance never betraying him as he then turned and took powerful strides all the way up the incline. "Well, yes. But you're also a hobbit. I don't think many _respectable _hobbits have ever stepped out of their Shire before, and nonetheless taken the opportunity to hike around their surrounding forest-sides." He turned once he reached the top to look down at her and raise an eyebrow for affirmation. "So yes, it is _that_ obvious."

But his suitor merely flushed and gazed slightly-petulantly back. "W-well…okay…" She huffed a particular heavy pant as she grabbed another tree to try and pull herself up the steep hill and back up to him. Her hobbit feet, while good for traction, were only so powerful without the momentum and strength needed to haul her up on their own like the king did. "…so maybe I haven't…done this before…but—"

Yet as she almost reached the top and felt her foot lose its grasp on the soft earth beneath her, she yanked her arm out for another tree, only to feel a stronger and larger and much weathered hand catch her wrist and hold her in place, angled upright against the incline so she wouldn't fall back.

And while held in limbo, she traced the arm back up to its silver-blue-eyed owner to see his shining smile as he uttered to her, "It's all right. I haven't danced before, either. Doesn't mean we can't ever learn, though. And in fact, we might even be better for it."

Billa slowly smiled back. "…I rather like the way you worded that..."

Something in Thorin's chest expanded, billowing in pride.

* * *

**(I surrender who I've been  
For who you are.)**

* * *

Lunch was delicious.

Even Thorin had to admit it: his nephews were right. This hobbit could _cook._

And even as he ate, he realized it was also so delightfully pleasing to see her have such a happy, warm talent that he could understand and appreciate, besides that mystifying and unknown language of her dancing that both made him uncomfortable and alive.

(Like every other part of her did, it seemed.)

But to have something different, something finally simple about her, finally something he knew and recognized, made her suddenly…homey. Warm.

The hearthstone within his chest continued to grow.

* * *

**(Nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart.)**

* * *

"Why'd you choose hiking, if I may ask? Especially if you've never done it before?"

Billa flushed and shrugged as they walked along, twigs snapping beneath their feet, and the quiet sounds of wildlife around them cooing and chirping with their routine content. "I…I suppose I…w-well…"

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "You suppose…?"

Finally the hobbit sighed, stopped, and turned to him as she blurted, "Well, I'm going to be very bluntly honest and I'm going to tell you the truth, because I see no point in not doing so: it's just that I wanted an…_excuse, _I supposed you could callit…yes, an excuse—just to get out of the castle for a while…" Her voice grew ever more uncertain the more she went on, but it was clear she spoke very honestly, very truthfully, clearing her throat out of polite pardon as she added, darting her eyes away, "Because, you know, it gets…um, stuffy…in there…sometimes…and I…rather like being outside more than under a mountain…so…"

But to her surprise, Thorin only laughed.

Billa flushed. "W-what's so funny?" she immediately asked, feeling as if this was also one of their growing reoccurrences—her being so unintentionally humorous to his highness, even as she was trying to be serious and honest.

The dwarf king shook his hand and head, pardoning himself as he continued their trek, leaving his suitor to scramble after him to match his long, powerful strides. "It just…amazes me," he finally admitted after a pass of silence. "So often I think we are so very different, but then, out of the blue, you find a way to make me believe that perhaps, we are not so different after all."

He turned to her, something bright and happy shining in his eyes and Billa was struck dumb for a moment in awe—_such gorgeous hues—_as he uttered, "I happen to believe it can get very…_stuffy _in the palace, too, if you would like to know."

The hobbit flushed modestly at him, but smiled back anyway. "So…so you didn't mind that I…said that?"

"No," Thorin dismissed, smirking as he turned back around to continue their journey. "And in fact, I'm glad you did. Then _I _wouldn't be caught saying it, however true it may be."

Billa laughed—and it was such a delightful, carefree, _true _laugh, too—one of the best kinds, where you are hardly aware you have let go such deep amusement from yourself, and instead, let what bubbles forth from your throat simply _be_—that Thorin instantly thirsted for it again. "Well, then—in that case—consider yourself very welcome, my king. I have just saved you from embarrassment."

Thorin chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you did."

"Oh, heaven forbid that the king under the mountain should ever be so _brutally _honest as to admit that he thinks his very own palace is _stuffy_," Billa chided warmly, grinning all the while.

Thorin merely hummed, head tilting back to the sky and wondering partially why the sun did not seem as bright and happy as the one trailing behind him through the trees and wood of the Lonely Mountain's side that afternoon. "Hm, yes, I suppose I owe you a 'thank you,' then, don't I?"

"Well…it'd be nice," Billa murmured with a smile.

And so it was that a dwarf king, with a soft chuckle, turned and bowed to an ordinary hobbit.

Yet it would not be the last.

* * *

**(If I had only known how it feels to be yours,  
I would have known what I've been living for  
All along.)**

* * *

The fall came quickly, without warning, and far too fast to try to make sense of exactly _how_ it had all happened.

One minute, they had been hiking, and the next, something snapped, and whatever Billa had stepped on or leaned against must have been providing her balance she needed for without it, she began to tip over and plummet and reached out—"Thorin—!"—and without thought, the dwarf had reached for her as well—before together, they tumbled and hit the rolling and descending ground with loud swears and hissed whines.

And then, they came to a stop.

When Billa next opened her eyes, panting and coughing out dirt that managed to get itself in her mouth, and, admittedly, laughing at the sheer hilarity of it all—for how funny was it that _both _of them had managed to fall in such a graceless, unceremonious manner?—she quieted as she then saw Thorin above her, just picking himself up with arms as columns on either side of her head, groaning from their descent—and when their eyes met…

…well, time jerked to a halt.

Their eyes locked together, breathing slowed; all else faded out to a dull, extemporaneous matter as something else, something far more important…suddenly bloomed into existence.

* * *

**(What I've been living for.)**

* * *

She could almost feel the heartbeat thrumming through the chest above her. A pound, a pound, a thud, as heavy as hers was within her bruised ribcage—perhaps even more. She felt with stunning clarity the dirt beneath her palms as her fingers clutched at it in anxious anticipation, all of her being perched on this moment, waiting and paused. (And what would he do? Would he just stare? Would he—)

—and then Thorin leaned it, and oh, there lips weren't very far apart at all, were they—and his breath was there, mingling with hers and every nerve was on fire, burning, tingling, _waiting, itching, _her lips parting subconsciously, breath hitching_—_

—and for one second, everything was almost bliss, teetering on that fenced edge and ready to dive—

—and then she felt it.

A gasp tore from her, and her eyes widened. Thorin froze, lowered eyes full-blown and hazily confused as he silently communicated his wonder as to what had distracted her so from their moment, but Billa was too frightened to move, too afraid to even try and wriggle away, because that warm, firm presence against her thigh wasn't…it wasn't…

Cold, heated shame washed over her. She—she hadn't planned on _this._

So when he tried to move in again, it was with shaming pain that Billa turned her head aside and let his lips brush against her cheek, her hands quickly flying to his shoulders as she muttered tightly, hurriedly, "Th-Thorin…w-we can't…I…"

He understood.

Even if, from the way he then buried his face at the meeting of her hair and jaw-line, she could tell he truly, truly didn't want to.

"I…" She swallowed. "…I'm sorry." And all at once, she felt so warm and on fire, but also so cold and awful, and it was the strangest, cruelest form of twisted, dichotomous emotions that Billa suddenly wished that she was someone else, just so she wouldn't be the one causing him this pain.

Thorin only shook his head after a long pause, finally lifting up enough so she could wriggle free, which she did without preamble. "Nothing to be sorry for," he then muttered gruffly, lowly, once she was finally out of his reach a foot or two away.

Billa could only gaze at him, her limbs holding up her upper half from the forest floor, knees bent in subconscious defense as she tried to define what to do. "I…sh…should I—?"

"—_no_."

It came out harsher than he intended it to, and in frightened response, the hobbit pressed her lips together.

A stiff pause lingered between them.

Then Thorin haltingly sighed. "I…I think you ought to begin making your way back."

"B-but if I return without you…"

Oh, hang it all, she was right.

Another sigh—one that was heavy, burdened with frustrations. Reluctantly, Thorin turned away, hiding his face and hiding his shame. There really was no other way around it. "…then I suggest you…step away for a moment. If you would. See if you can…" He cleared his throat awkwardly, "…well, if there is a cold creek nearby, I would…appreciate…it…"

Billa hurriedly got to her feet, face red and hot and oh d-dear—"—yes, yes, of course, I'll just—um—yes, I'll go try and find one—right—" Yet even as she turned away, she still had to say it, "Look, I—I'm really sorry—"

"—just…" Thorin sighed, pressing a hand to his face. Gosh, this was…everything he _didn't _want it to be. How embarrassing. "…just go. Please."

Billa flushed even harder, hurriedly nodded, and did as told.

* * *

**(Though we're tethered to the story we must tell,  
When I saw you…well, I knew we'd tell it well.)**

* * *

She was glad, then, that even though she hadn't found a creek, she had apparently gotten far enough away not to hear anything. Okay, well, actually, she wasn't quite sure of how far away she had strayed at all—just knew that she had kept on going and going in what she hoped was the general direction of the palace until she finally decided to plop down and wait. She didn't know even where that place was, or even if Thorin would find her—not until the king actually, amazingly enough did, and they both, together, began their terribly-awkward trek home.

Er…to the palace. Not home. Because home was still the Shire. At least, at the moment, anyway.

_Yeah._

Billa cleared her throat and modestly kept her head down as they walked and let silence blanket them both. Guilt still churned in her stomach, painful and cycling, relentless. She didn't expect for the dwarf king beside her to finally utter, "…you know, you went the opposite way of where a creek actually was."

Oh…did she?

Billa cleared her throat again, flushing hard. "S-so, uh…you…you were able to…take care of it then…?"

A chuckle—of all things, a _chuckle_—came from the dwarf beside her. "Yes, I was able to…'take care of it,' as you so put it."

And despite it all—_curse_ it all—she felt the corner of her lip twitch upward in shared amusement. Bowing her head, trying to stuff her laughter, Billa managed to get out, "Oh, this is all…kind of ridiculous, isn't it?" as she hid her embarrassed face in her hands.

Thorin laughed, long and loud, even as the hobbit giggled uncontrollably next to him. "Yes," he finally replied in between the loud bursts of amusement that sparked within. "Yes, I think that pretty much describes everything."

Oh, how truly, utterly ridiculous fate had brought them to be.

* * *

**(With a whisper, we will tame the vicious seas  
Like a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees.)**

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **"…but with you…/(I'm feeling better ever since you know me)/…I feel again…/(I was a lonely soul, but that's the old me)/…Yeah, with you…/(I'm feeling better ever since you know me)/I… feel again…/(I was a lonely soul)…"

It's come to my attention over the course of writing all 20 chapters so far of this story that there are certain lines/stanzas of songs that just resonate with me and so strongly motivate me to write this story. ;A; "Feel Again" by OneRepublic being a HUGE one of them (in fact, if this thing ever became something visual, I would SO want that song as the trailer music), as well as the one featured within this very chapter, "Turning Page" by Sleeping at Last. A couple of others to make particular note of: "As I Am" by Heather Dale, Adrian Von Ziegler's "My Everything," Lindsey Stirling's rendition of "A River Flows in You" and BrunuhVille's "When Love Fails" (PARTICULARLY that one because it has a musical phrase in it that sounds like it's from the actual LotR soundtrack and I just..melt ;A; every time I hear it) have also been huge motivators. Go check them out if you want! They're SUCH beautiful pieces of music!

Also, I know "Turning Page" is from the _Twilight _soundtrack. ;A; Ugh, ugh, I know, but I stumbled upon it and it fit perfectly and it was everything I needed and wanted, and I just had to use it. ;A; So please forgive me.

Also also, I hope no one minded too much that bit of...risque-ish scene. ;A: I did not mean to make it too non-discrete, or too graphic, so if it bothered any of you, I apologize. ;A: I just...felt it was a necessary scene, because the sexual part of a relationship, I believe, is very important. So I didn't want to leave that out of Billa and Thorin's particular story. But don't worry; there will never be anything graphic throughout the rest of this story. Like I said before, there will never be anything explicit; just references and hints.

So I hope you enjoyed your special treat! Happy 20th chapter, and have a wonderful, wonderful day!


	21. Here's Where I Hurt You

By the time they returned down to the palace's front gates, the sky looked heavy and full of rain—"Good signs of an oncoming storm," Thorin had mentioned to Billa as they then entered shelter and safety from the taut winds, before the heavens broke loose with their torrent. The hobbit had nodded in return, glad they made it back when they did—but neither of them had the foresight to see that Thorin's words were coming true in more ways than they thought.

Not until, of course, they heard a loud, thunderous voice declare, "_There _you are!" from further on down the main hallway.

Instantly, Thorin scowled, muttering to Billa as he then gently shoved her away and to one of the side doorways leading off from the main hall, "You'd best get out of here and back to your room now. I will see you at dinner, later, yes?"

"W-wait, what?" Billa murmured back, watching him with wide worried eyes even as she let herself be pushed away. "O-oh, okay…"

And although hesitantly, she left without much more complaint, and once she was gone, out of sight and therefore safe, that settled the panicky beast that had risen, buzzing around nervously in Thorin's chest as soon as he heard his cousin's voice. But now more at ease, more confident, Thorin turned to deal with the other dwarf king, who approached with a murderously stormy expression clouding his wide face, fists clenched and eyes darting up and down his relative's form, with Azog right behind him, surprisingly.

But Thorin had no time to greet his High Commander. Nodding briefly in a vague hello to them both, he then listened as his cousin burst in anger, "Where have _you _been? I travel all this way, and receive a warm enough welcome thanks to your High Commander and Company, but then I hear and see no sign of my cousin, who, they tell me, is off on a 'vacation' with one of his 'suitors'! What—?"

"—I had been hiking," Thorin clarified, meeting Dain's gaze with no intimidation in his own. "Getting some fresh air. Perhaps you should do the same, Cousin. You seem rather wound up from such a journey."

"I _am_, because I am _not pleased, _Thorin," Dain huffed, glaring hard. "You are playing a game I know well enough in finding your suitor—a game any dwarf knows well, competing for a hand—but these results that I am hearing are not turning out how I expected them to be when I first heard you had decided upon finding a new partner after that horrible other!"

Thorin couldn't help but smile just a little at that, amused. A reminder of the hobbit made his heart feel so light, he could hardly care what his cousin was saying. "Indeed. I don't think the results are turning out to be how _anyone _expected them to, to be honest," he mused.

Azog smirked at him in a mysterious glance that the dwarf king supposed he could comprehend as understanding, if that's what it was. However, though, Dain's face clouded over even darker. "Are you taking this at all seriously?" his cousin exclaimed. "This isn't just about _you_, Thorin—this is about all of _Erebor_. Don't be so selfish as to assume who you chose won't affect your people."

Well—yes. He knew that. He wasn't dumb. Nor was he selfish.

But when Thorin opened his mouth to respond so, his cousin cut him off once more. "This is about your responsibility_, _Thorin. This is about politics and playing it _smart;_ this isn't about finding _love._" Dain panted a bit, before shaking his head. "I know you may have hopes—what king, in your situation, wouldn't? And, granted…" he sighed, as if this taxed him to admit, "…if what I heard Ithur say was right, then so be it—your One may very well be an orc or a hobbit. That's…that is your choice. But despite that, you need to crown your partner _not _based on that, but on who will be the best for those you serve. Someone you and your people can actually _trust_."

Thorin frowned heavily at his cousin, sighing in growing impatience. "Get to the point, Dain. What are you trying to say…?"

* * *

Billa hovered uncertainly in the empty hallway. Unfortunately, she…she couldn't quite remember where she was. Fili, Kili and Nori hadn't taken her down this way or this path of the castle during their explorations last week, and it wasn't as if there were any dwarves around at the moment to ask for help. Actually, she was completely and totally alone. To couple that with how she was clueless as to where she was, it made sense she was rather unnerved. Possibly scared. Maybe.

Definitely.

_Oh, where _is _everybody…?_

"Lost, little hobbit?"

* * *

"I'm _trying _to warn you that perhaps you shouldn't trust her—that Miss Baggins."

What…? "Why ever not?" Thorin growled, eyebrows lowering as he stared hard and demanding at his cousin.

* * *

A gasp tore itself from her throat as she spun around, backing up in instinctive preservation of self. "I—I—uh—" She cleared her throat, smiling weakly at the orc in front of her. "—oh, w-well, p-possibly…"

She could hear Dis' words in her ears loud and clear—words that she probably should have taken in warning more seriously than she did before this moment. _"…I could have killed you yet again, and you wouldn't have even known I was here. Stupid Halfling. You're no better since the first night we met."_

Still, she was no better, it seems.

Bolg merely 'hmphed' in a way that…strangely sounded pleased. Billa swallowed, Ithur's words also resounding inside her in head, echoing in warning and in caution: _"__…I must say that that orc is one of the few who I…I just do not _trust _him. He clearly does not want the consortship of Thorin because he at all feels affection for him; he wants the _power_. __Of that, I am sure." _

So then, should she not trust him as well…? It was strange that such a question had never occurred to her before—but then again, they had rarely talked. He had never given her a personal reason not to trust him…so… "I—I just need to find one of the other dwarves; they'll help me find my way back, I'm sure—"

"—like how they've helped you cheat throughout all these past four weeks?"

…what?

Billa felt the color chill from her face, leaving her cold and suddenly so very frightened in the hallway.

"Yes," he answered for her unspoken question. "I _know _exactly what you've been up to."

…oh…oh dear…

Billa took a step back.

* * *

Dain looked like it pained him to say it, suddenly softening to degrees he had never softened to before—perhaps simply because of the confusion and doubt within his own cousin's eyes that so blatantly told of his growing affection for the little halfling—but he continued anyway. "It has come to my attention Thorin, thanks to your High Commander here, that Miss Baggins has been cheating to get to you. She has been cheating all along."

Cheating…?

What?

"That's the craziest accusation I've yet heard," Thorin uttered in clear disbelief, almost laughing at it. "How can you even 'cheat' in this—"

"—she has been receiving outside help in appealing to you, Thorin," Dain continued, harder now, louder now, more forcefully and more heavily, taking a step forward to ingrain this in his cousin's brain—especially the more and more Thorin looked to be in denial. "Your very own sister and even more recently, your nephews, have been working with her illegally—against all rules—as her attendants and aids in order so that she can win your heart."

…w-what…

"You have been _played_, my cousin."

…that…that didn't sound right…that wasn't true.

Thorin took a step back.

* * *

"Bolg, I'm really sorry—I didn't—I didn't intend to _cheat_—I didn't—"

"—but isn't that what you did?" Bolg asked, taking a step forward. "You've used an unfair advantage and through it, have sabotaged my own chances of winning. Tell me, little hobbit, is _that_ 'fair'? Is _that _'right'?"

'Winning'…? Forget the other words he was trying to stress—why did_ that_ one, in particular, seem like such an ill-fitting term for what they were trying to do, especially coming from the orc's mouth? Why did that send a striking spine of stone into her body, making her stand straighter and clasp her shaking hands together in a bid for courage as she muttered quietly, shakily back, "W-well, first, y-you tell me: what h-have I sabotaged you from w-winning…?"

Bolg grit his teeth and stepped forward. It took every ounce of willpower on the hobbit's side not to step back again. "The _throne_, of course," with great force, he bit back the awful words he would have gladly called her, and focused instead on persuading, on focusing what he truly wanted her to understand. "What we have been competing for all along—your selfish actions have stolen my chance at ruling by Thorin's side—at being the consort Erebor needs. So _tell me _how that is right. _Try _and justify for me your treacherous and conceited actions which will lead Erebor to _ruin_."

Billa pressed her lips together, calling desperately for reason. Because what—what could she say?

And why…why most of all did she truly feel no regret for this?

"I…I fail to see…" Her voice shook, betraying the conviction she wanted to utter, but she went on anyway, looking him straight in the eye as she responded as calmly as possible, "I fail to see…how I have wronged Erebor…o-or will lead her to ruin…b-by falling in s-something as pure as_ love _with her king."

"_Love_?" Bolg spat the word as if it were poison, and hunched his shoulders as he claimed to her, "Love has no place—"

"—it is a better m-motivator than dry ambition."

…did she just interrupt him?

Billa seemed to be aware of the same fatal thing, and fighting the heavy urge to bow her head—because _no, _for _once in her life_, no, she would _not _be meek and trembling while she was fighting and standing up for what she needed to—what was _right_—she continued hurriedly, "Y-you cannot make me a-apologize for d-doing what I have done—e-especially if it p-protected Thorin from a p-partner who would never have cared for _him _rather than the chair he sits upon. S-so _no_, I did not…I have not w-wronged _anyone. _N-not if in using Dis, Fili and Kili's help I have saved Erebor f-from someone who was _disillusioned _enough want to win the _throne _more than the king's own _heart—_because _that_, Bolg, is_ truly_ what this contest w-was about from the very beginning."

…did she say that right? She did, yes? She got it right?

By the dark, ugly look crossing Bolg's face, she would guess that perhaps yes; yes she did. Which, gave her comfort, in a sense, to not have gotten wrong something so important.

Of course, it also gave her great fear because holy crap she just practically labeled the orc as a _villain _right then and there, to his face, by saying she was glad she had cheated because it meant _he _wouldn't win. (Who…who _said _that? Ever?)

"You will regret this, little hobbit…"

Billa hadn't the opportunity to even scream.

* * *

Having Dain tell him what the hobbit had been up to was one thing—but to actually see Dis, Fili and Kili and have _them, _face-to-face assert what they had been doing, gathered like criminals in a side-room where the other members of his company stood guard and looked equally as pained as Thorin did, it was…almost too much.

He _knew _he should have been done with love.

Yet, the instant she saw _that_ look cross her brother's face, Dis erupted into a stand and looked the dwarf king square in the eye, bidding his attention firmly as she added, "Do not think it has been out of vain ambition, Little Brother. That hobbit has not 'played' you—no matter _what _anyone says, or _what _anyone has interpreted our actions to be. She did not come to me and bribe me into aiding her—_I _pledged _myself _to her, because I believed she _should _be by your side. And if it is a crime to believe that and to then subsequently aid her in winning your heart, then so be it. I will gladly be a criminal, if only because I believed in Billa Baggins and her love—that she loved you sincerely—and that you might even be able to love her back and find happiness in her. Happiness that you _deserve._"

Kili and Fili immediately stood up, declaring, "Us, too! We'd be criminals, as well!"

"The hobbit is not a liar or a cheater, Uncle—"

"—far from it—"

"—believe us!—"

"—in fact, she _told _us to only give her _hints_—"

"—yes! She didn't even want us to help her too much—"

"—her distinct words were because she wanted to win you own her own. She _loves y_ou, Uncle."

"She really does! Her affection is true! We've seen it!"

But Thorin merely sighed, passing a heavy hand over his face as he tried to process this…tried to process everything. Confusion, hurt, hope, passion, pain, comfort, agony…what was the proper response to this? What should he believe?

Dain's voice rose from behind him, low and unyielding. "…you need to make a choice, Thorin."

He knew.

He knew he did.

But what choice was there? That she should stay? That she should be eliminated—disqualified? That Bolg should win? That…

…that what…?

"…Thorin…?"

Dis.

"Gather—gather the people. Right now. In the assembly outside, under the balcony. Tonight my decision shall be made."

Alarmed silence met him as an answer, several pairs of startled eyes gazing at him in bewilderment.

"But Thorin, it isn't until tomorrow that you—"

"—do as I say, Balin." Turned and looked hard at his advisor, dark and stormy eyes pinning the older dwarf in place, who dared not to speak in response to such a tumultuous gaze. "Gather everyone in the Lonely Mountain and prepare the criers for the news they must spread throughout the other regions of Erebor—tonight my intended shall be announced."

Bofur was the only one who dared speak up, quietly and confused as he uttered, "…but it's raining outside right now…we can't make them stand out there while—"

"—_I care not," _came the dignified roar. Thorin turned upon them all, fiery, furious and burning as he claimed, "It could be hailing—it could be thunderstorming—it matters not! We shall gather, and I shall make my decision—no matter _what _or _who _tries to interfere. The rain does not hold back, and neither shall I."

And with those words echoing behind him, he left in a whirl of tempest.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Ah-ha...things are reaching their climax, I fear. 8D;; Haha...heads-up, guys, though you might already know this: what is to come is going to be a LOT of hard stuff. ;A; Because this _is_ where we get to the nitty-gritty; this is that moment where all four weeks have passed, and now it is time to hold on while this billowing storm that has been building since chapter 1, plows through.

You've been with me thus far as valiant and brave readers. I truly could not have asked for a better audience. Now, though, comes the test of your courage and loyalty: are you ready for what thorns lie ahead?


	22. Here's Where I Fail You

"Where _is _she?"

Thorin paced on the outside stone balcony overlooking his gathered people, growing more and more impatient and uneasy the longer time went on and there remained to be no sight of his—_the _little hobbit anywhere. All around him stood his company, his sister, his cousin, Bolg, and his Highest Commander as they awaited both news and sight of her—but though the servants searched the castle, she could not be found.

Dis, in particular, began to get a nasty feeling in her gut. She frowned heavily, eyebrows furrowing to an almost painful degree as they waited, and waited…but still nothing appeared of her.

Beside her, both of her sons fidgeted, unable to go and help the search for the hobbit due to their uncle's fury. That restriction only served to heighten their anxiety, however, and worried, they turned to their mother, the younger one asking, "Where could she have gone…?"

"Where _would _she have gone, you mean," Dis corrected without even glancing at them. At the two's confused glances, she then answered quickly, shortly, and lowly, the worry heightening in her abdomen as she explained, "It is not 'could' but 'would,' for I have no doubt she _would _be here _if_ she could—but she isn't. So then we must ask ourselves 'why' and not 'where.' _Why…why _can we not find her…"

Azog exhaled from where he stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest and stoic in the falling rain that soaked them all through and left his muscles gleaming. "Quite. It is no secret hobbits have the talent of hiding from view…perhaps the case is that she does not _want _to be found."

Dis growled. "_That _isn't like her. She'd want to be here—I know it—"

"—even if your secret had been found out? What if showing her face meant humiliation and disgrace—and she knew it? Would you not want to hide instead of facing your downfall?" Azog questioned.

Kili and Fili glanced at each other sharply, alarmed. Dis turned to the orc in outright anger, uttering, "Only a _coward _would choose to not face her failures—and if there is one thing I know about her from the weeks I have spent by her side—she is _not _afraid of staring her faults in the face. She _would be here."_

Azog hummed low and careful in his throat. "I would not be so sure. She is a _hobbit,_ after all. Not a dwarf. Hobbits are not the bravest creatures to roam Middle-Earth."

"She…she's different, though," Kili murmured, mulling this over. "We…we know she is, too. Right, Fili?"

His brother nodded weakly.

Thorin stepped up towards them, muttering very quietly, "She still has not returned…I don't…" Something fierce was battling in his face, and at the sight, Dis almost longed to reach out and hold her brother in mutual confliction. "…is it true she might have fled, now that I know…?"

"_No_—"

But Dis' fierce bark was interrupted by Azog's calm muttering of, "—I'm afraid that might very well be the case, your highness."

Heavy shadows fell over Thorin's face, wet from rain, and he lifted a large hand to pass over his eyes.

Dis stepped forward. "Thorin—"

—but his outstretched hand stopped her, her brother's face still hidden from view. So she waited, waited, paused and yearning for her sibling to understand—to have faith in their hobbit companion—in this person who he undoubtedly _loved _and had been about ready to claim as his _One—_until Thorin murmured very quietly, very uncertainly, almost in a whisper, "…I can't."

Dis pressed her lips together in sharp, harsh understanding, and Azog stepped forward. "Shall I address those gathered, then…?"

And after a long, long pause, Thorin finally nodded.

Azog gave one nod back. "Very well, then. Would you like me to announce Bolg as—"

"—no." The dwarf king shook his head at that, teeth set harshly against whatever onslaught still lingered in his chest. The hobbit—that _hobbit. _"No, I am _done _with that pursuit. If the hobbit does not have the courage to tell me to my face that she has tricked me into loving her, then no—no, she is no better than a coward. But all the same, consider me _done _with love."

There was a stiff silence under the pitter-patter of rain, but eventually Azog nodded, and walked past the king and to the gathered crowd.

Dis couldn't believe it, even as she stared at her brother and disregarded whatever it was Azog was consoling the crowd with—news about how their hobbit companion was refusing to show—news about how her subsequent disappearance would mark the dissolution of the competition, as Thorin has decided he is not yet ready—or perhaps may never be—for love. Dis stared, and while she felt pain for her kin of blood, she also felt the tinklings of betrayal. "…you…you think she would _leave you_…? Just like that?"

"I _don't know what to think_," Thorin groaned back, tired and frustrated and _sad, _but binding it all back for the sake of hanging together as king and ruler of Erebor. "She is _not here_, Dis. What can be said for her? How am I supposed to interpret her absence? That she still loves me? Or that it was a ruse, and now that her game is over, she has no chance of winning and has decided to take flight?"

Dis growled. "For the last time, it wasn't a ruse—I _was with her_—"

"—you just don't want to admit that it because such an admission would color you an idiot," Thorin bit back, angry, finally looking her firm in the eye as he claimed, "But you needn't be worried—_I'm _the one who's clearly the fool here—we're _all _the fools, having believed her and fallen for her ploys—"

"—you don't even know if there was malicious intent _behind _these 'ploys,'" Dis fired, desperate and hanging onto all lasting hope that she had for her charge—her _friend_—her first friend in a good, long while. "You keep saying it was a bad thing, that it was wrong—all that she did and said—but what if it _wasn't_? What if it was for your good? What if she was just trying to win you because she _loved _you? What's the harm, then, in seeking help from her beloved's family?"

Thorin couldn't answer that. He truly couldn't—and perhaps it was because some part of him agreed with that—or just truly, truly wanted to.

But he shook his head, mouth gaping emptily. He closed it once, apologetically, before the words finally came to him and he murmured back, "…I might perhaps agree with you—if she were here. If I knew that she at least _wanted _to make amends, and make things right. But her absence…" he sighed heavily. "…her absence suggests otherwise."

No.

_No_… "Thorin—"

But her brother held up his hand as he tilted his head away, suddenly craning it to listen and hear what his High Commander was telling the people. "…and so, in the wake of this absence, if it pleases the king, I wish to leave a Challenge for our missing competitor."

Turning around, Azog caught Thorin's eye, who, after a long and hesitant moment (so brief, in retrospect; such a tiny moment that changed so much; he just should have _thought more, _should have _considered..._), nodded at him in Approval.

(It would be the greatest mistake he would ever make.)

The orc subtly grinned and turned back towards the crowd. "Wherever Billa Baggins may be, may the message reach her that she has now been officially Challenged. She has one day, and one day alone, to meet us at the edge of her hometown—the Shire—if she does not wish for her fellow hobbit-kind to be slaughtered by my orc army."

…wait.

Thorin's eyes widened as the implications of that sunk in. _Wait._

Then, there was silence.

Stunned—complete, total, and utter stunned silence.

Dis could find no words, a black tar rock sinking into her intestines.

The orc continued. "For those unlike my kind, it may sound…harsh—but understand, this is the only way to test her words and apparent courage that she has all fooled us with so far. If she is truly the hobbit that the king and all of us have believed she is, then she will not fail to meet us there before the sun rises on the day after tomorrow. And should she appear—then no lives will be taken and no hobbit-blood will be shed. But should she not—then let it be a warning to all who thought the king's heart was a toy they could play with. We do not take such vices lightly."

No—no, certainly that wasn't to be taken lightly, but—but this was— "Thorin, you aren't going to let this happen, are you?" Dis asked with icy fear—fear she hasn't known before, not for people not of her own kind—seizing her chest in cataclysmic, stuttering shock. His stunned silence made it spread. "You aren't going to let him _lead his orkish army _to a bunch of _hobbits_? This isn't—that's not a _challenge; _that's an excuse for a _massacre—_!_"_

"—No. No—of course not; I—" The shock and horror in his eyes—that he _clearly, _truly and honestly hadn't seen that coming—matched hers, and was only enough to assuage her terror even slightly.

But Dis still felt horror to degrees she hadn't ever known before, thick and heavy. "_Thorin—_they don't have an army. They've _never _had one. They won't be able to protect themselves! He's—he's signing their _death _sentences—the deaths of hundreds of _innocent people_—!"

But what could he do…? Thorin gaped at her in loss—and Dis understood. Even though she wanted him to turn and take pledge and revoke the Challenge—even though _he _clearly wanted to with every bone and fiber yet in his body—he couldn't. He was king. He was king, and it was his job to _pass _Challenges—Challenges that were impenetrable and invincible—unbroken until they had been fulfilled. He couldn't…he couldn't interfere…that was law. That was code.

The orc, meanwhile, assured to the concerned, muttering crowd, "Of course, no one will die if she shows. And if she doesn't show…" He chuckled, low and dark. "…well, as far as I see it, if all hobbits are like her, then we are better off without them."

W…what?

"What have the hobbits ever done for Erebor, anyway? They have kept to themselves, stayed singing and reserved and selfishly isolated from all other events and wars, caring only for themselves."

_"…but a hobbit can do nothing for us; only be a sign of that extra baggage we have to protect."_

No.

_No._

Dis stared, a deep feeling of sickness churning and growing until she was sure she was a volcano—all at once, a mountain of nauseated and bubbling hot, fuming anger. _No. No. No. No. No—_ "Thorin, we have to stop this—we—we have to stop this _right now_—"

—but Thorin brokenly shook his head, dazed, horrified, confused—_how had it come to this.._.? (And he had…he had just nodded? Hadn't he thought…thought of what Azog might say? No, because Azog had been trustworthy. Always trustworthy. Always up to this point…but why now this sudden…bloodthirst? Why…?) "…a Challenge is a Challenge, Dis…" he finally muttered out hoarsely. "We can't…we can't take it back…" His lost grey-blue eyes, as stormy and tremulous as the clouds above them, lifting up to find her wide, silver ones. "…it's _law_."

And she knew—she _knew _this—it was one of the oldest laws of dwarves, as old as their rag-laid debts and as old as their mountain-kingdoms. A Challenge ordained and approved by royalty could not be revoked once announced. And kings could not partake in Challenges, anyway.

There was nothing…_nothing…_

…was there?

No—wait—_Thorin _could perhaps do nothing, bound by law and all that was dwarven to the Challenge he had unknowingly conceded to—but _she _could. _She, _a royal dwarf from another mountain—there was a course of action _she _could take—and she _would _take—

—and before she knew it, Dis felt a deep roar of anger burst through her—gathering the attention of the people below as she cried, growling and marching forward right up to the High Commander's face, "_I _may not know your game, Azog—but this is a line I _cannot _permit you to cross! So consider _this, _then, to be a Challenge of my own." And when she turned back to her brother and saw him nod at her in fierce, loyal trust, her heart swelled for him. "And consider this a Challenge of anyone else who wishes to join me—who isn't _stupid _enough to believe these accusations pressed against an _innocent hobbit_ and an unjust sentence placed upon her innocent _people_!" Her words were loud, commanding, meant for their entire audience and the High Commander before her.

And with their undivided attention, she made her claim.

"If Billa Baggins does indeed not make an appearance—then so be it. But if these orcs so dare to attack her hometown of the Shire, then_ I_ will fight to protect them. Because unlike you, Azog, _I _am not so foolish as to believe that one person's actions should condemn her entire race—and should anyone else agree with me on at least this much, whether or not you still believe in Billa Baggins, I invite you to take up arms with me to _protect _the hobbits from what is a clear and unjust bloodbath—and nothing more. This is not a lesson. This is permission to _mass-murder _out of something as vain as a _heartache, _and I will _not stand for that._"

Thorin glared at her for that, but understood her words, anyway—she...she truly did have a point, there.

But then, to his surprise, from below, there immediately came a loud shout of, "Neither shall I! I still believe in Miss Billa Baggins!"

And when he turned to see over the paramount who it was—he realized, he should have figured.

Ithur.

Little selfless Ithur, striding forth alone from the crowd. His resolve was set, eyes hard as he stood apart—one little dwarf—convicted against a sea of indecision. "_I _will fight for her people with you, Dis. The hobbits have not yet earned my distrust—and I will not stand by as they are slaughtered. You have my axe."

And then suddenly—it was as if someone had flipped a switch.

One by one, a mob of the people began to pledge their weapons and arms with Dis and against the orkish army that was preparing themselves for their journey west. One by one, they stepped forward, claiming to fight and protect and to dare to believe in a little hobbit who they could only recall had ever loved, and never deceived. Even Melody—the harmless human from Lake-Town stepped forward—and perhaps in an effort to protect her more than anything else, soon Bard the Bowman pledged himself as well, announcing his allegiance to the hobbit and to her people—because he could still recall her words in the marketplace that day, anyway—he could remember her resolve—and even if that's all he remembered of her, he had to admit…that wasn't false. She hadn't been lying.

She had been honest, and had cared for the Big People, giving Melody all the wealth the king had given her—and that had made them as a community prosper like never before.

"Someone like that?" Bard called up to the balcony, arm around the blonde beside him who was looking at him with such pride, he was daringly emboldened. "They deserve at _least _the benefit of a doubt—and so I, too, will not stand idly by while her people are killed. You have my bow."

And then his Company began to pledge themselves—Kili and Fili first, stepping forward to their sister's side—followed by Nori, Ori, Bombur, Bofur, Bifur, Gloin, Oin, Balin, Dori and Dwalin as they all announced themselves together into a mismatched and cross-racial band of protection for the hobbit people.

Dis practically glowed when it was all over and done with, when the messy split crossing between humans and dwarves—between those who wanted to fight, and those few who weren't sure—was made by the claims and beliefs of the people themselves. "So there you have it, High Commander," she then uttered to him with overflowing pride. "You have your army, and I have mine. When that day after tomorrow dawns, we will see what is done, and what 'lessons' are finally taught. What form of justice will _prevail._"

Azog lowered his eyes at her in dangerous anger. "…yes," he finally growled after a long period of tense silence. "We will see, indeed."

Dis only grinned.

* * *

Voices.

That was…one of the first things Billa was aware of as she began to wake from what felt like a hundred years' sleep. Her head ached like someone had struck it with one of Erebor's weighty cornerstones. Everything was murky, muddled, cotton-filled and stuffy, and as she tried to move, she only succeeded in realizing her limbs felt like lead, and that the sensory from such an attempted shift suddenly caused pain to strike up against her clamorous headache. She felt so heavy and so…oh. Wait, was someone carrying her?

The voices stopped for a split-second, and then all of a sudden, one of them spoke up from what seemed to be very close to her face—hot, reeking breath pressing upon her nose, and she scrunched up in extreme distaste, instinctively trying to pull away—but the arms around her would not yield—as the voice (familiar, somehow, strangely enough) muttered lowly, "Wakey-wakey, Miss Baggins."

Her heart fell, yet she did as told, fluttering her wincing eyes open—cringing at the light that was—well, to be honest, there wasn't a whole lot of light around at all.

But it was enough to see who her captors were—and _recognize _them with startled breath.

"You—you're the ones—"

The two grinned down at her in a way Billa found frighteningly terrifying, one peering at her over the shoulder of the other. Her carrier then uttered, "Glad to see that you remember us. But I don't think we were ever introduced from the last…_time _we met—unfortunate though the circumstance was. So allow me to do the favors—_I _am Bigthan—"

"—I'm Teresh!" cried the other one with a dangerous grin.

Billa tried to scramble away—but the next thing she knew, her entire world was thrown upside down, and she was smacking into the uneven, gravely and dirty stone floor beneath them on her stomach, face hitting the floor harshly after being thrown from Bigthan's arms.

She winced, shaking—trembling—for oh, gosh, her heart was beating so hard inside her chest, rambling around in frightened, fluttering fear—_safety, safety, I need to get to it—_and, trying to pick herself up from the floor, she only succeeded in propping herself up enough to be on her elbows when she had to freeze, noticing in shock her surroundings for the first time since she arrived.

This…this was not the castle…

…oh no…

"Allow me, then, to be the _second _to welcome you to our humble home of Mount Gundabad, Miss Baggins."

No…_no…_she didn't—she had hoped to never set foot here again—she had…

"This time…it _will _be your last."

…_no…_

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **I wasn't…uh…kidding about the thorns. 8D;; Yeah.

Also, I dedicate this chapter to Elsa. ;A; Simply because...she's amazing. Both as my partner-in-crime and beta, she's constantly the unlucky one who sees all the ugly versions of this story: the ones that don't always make sense plot-wise, the ones that have glimpses of OOC moments, the ones with horrible grammar...and I must say, this chapter, itself, originally had a big plot-mistake on my part 8D (It's so easy to forget, sometimes, when you're the author, above everything, that your characters should have thoughts and opinions of their own...), and she had pointed it out and got me to work through it and still pump out this chapter today with a much more understandable outcome.

She's excellent. ;A: I adore her insight that she has faithfully provided for all 22 chapters so far, and I truly, truly want to thank her for her patience and endurance with my messy, imperfect drafts I always shove in her face. 8D So THANK YOU, ELSA! I don't know what I'd do without you. ;A;

So anyway, I hope you enjoyed...? If you, can...? 8D; Haha...ha...ha.

(Have a wonderful day!)


	23. Here Goes Everything

It is rumored that when hobbits cry, for a split-second, all of nature stops and feels an empathized pang with the Sorrow that Never Should Have Been.

Leaves darken.

The sky greys.

Individuals among men, dwarves, elves, other hobbits, and creatures whose hearts have not yet hardened, sigh with a temporary, soft depression they cannot explain.

Thorin felt it, staring up at the stormy sky. Dis felt it. Ithur felt it. Kili, Fili did, as did the rest of the Company. Their entire army felt it—affected and softened as they were by the kind words and actions of a little halfling who was still nowhere to be seen, yet feeling her tears—wherever she was.

The hobbits of the Shire felt it, too, even as they stared with wide, fearful eyes at the two gathered armies which waited, camped with their swords and shields at the edge of their little, once-peaceful town. Clinging to each other with their hands in tight prayers of hope, they watched and were saddened—knowing instinctively as much as nature did that something was terribly wrong.

The orcs did not.

* * *

The elves did.

And when a certain wizard in grey hurriedly approached them with a plea that had not been asked of them for several hundred years, they actually, stunningly, chose to concede to it—if only to make the hobbits' suffering end.

* * *

_Clink._

_Clink._

The chains slithered to the floor, locked and bound, now, to their prisoner's wrists, clinking and sharp and cold where they brushed against her stinging legs.

"Look at her now—the once-beloved Miss Billa Baggins. Reduced to a chained criminal."

The hobbit swallowed.

Gasped.

Turned her face away from the two before her and pressed her clawed, heated cheek to the cool dirty stone behind her, as if it would somehow bring her sanctuary and peace.

The tears fell shakily, delicate drops of pain where they trailed wobbily down her cheeks.

A hiccup passed her lips, and she fiercely, feverishly, desperately wished it would stop. Everything. That it would just…stop and cease to be.

"And now your people will die because you won't be there. How does it feel to have caused their deaths, Halfling?"

Ah…yes…they _had _told her about that—about that plan.

And swallowing again, painfully, she gasped in dismay, the sobs ripping from her as her heart cried and begged for another chance, another opportunity to save them. She—she didn't…it wasn't…oh, _why_? Where had it gone wrong? Where had _she _gone wrong…? All she had ever done was try to do the right thing…

"You've probably lost your king's love, you know. If you ever had it, that is."

She knew…s-she knew _that_.

But it still stung. A constant ache in her chest that sometimes, if she thought about it too much, ended up panging far harder than the barbed whip's lashes that had scorched her back and sides.

She winced and tried to curl up—but that made the lacerations sing even louder in a cacophony of rough, raw agony—both inside and out, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out, the sobs harsh and thick as they lumped against her ribcage and throat.

She wasn't made for this—for withstanding this pain. She was just a _hobbit_. (Why didn't anyone _understand _that?) She was just a tiny, little hobbit who valued comfort more than wealth and who wanted to love more than she wanted to hate—and who should have never, ever left her little hobbit hole and who really, really shouldn't have even _tried _to love the king. The scar on her arm from her very first encounter with a sword should have been enough—it should have been all any hobbit would endure in their entire lifetime, and should have told her to back off.

But it didn't—and they weren't—she wasn't—she—_why_?

"And now you'll die here. Alone."

…she…she didn't want to be alone…

"A fitting end for a coward."

…_not a coward. I'm not…not a coward…stop it… _But the gasps rocking her bruised and wounded chest, already battered on the inside thanks to her bucking heart made it hard to say such things out loud.

"Oh…and one more thing."

One of them grabbed her ankle, and yanked it forward, pulling her onto her back with a startled, pained cry as the deep whip-born cuts there screamed in acute, burning fire. Out of instinct—fearing what they would do—for it could be nothing good after all she had endured so far—she tried to pull back and scramble away, fingers desperately scratching for purchase—a point of safety to cling to—_anything_—but that ended the moment a foot clamped down hard on the captured limb—right at the joint of foot and shin.

Billa froze in response to the silent, threatened terror.

"Bolg wants you to know…he hates your dancing."

The orc stomped hard—and Billa screamed in wet, choking sobs as an audible _snap _rang through the cavernous room and burning, awful pain shot up her leg—enough to almost wipe her mind clean of everything.

_Oh, if only it would._

* * *

It is rumored that when hobbits cry, for a split-second, all of nature stops and feels an empathized pang with the Sorrow that Never Should Have Been.

The dragon tied to the darkness across from the sobbing hobbit couldn't deny that he…did indeed, feel something. Perhaps it was because of his soft underbelly—although that shouldn't have counted. Shouldn't have made him so affected. The ageless creature had always believed he had a heart of stone, anyway.

Yet these tears…

…intriguing.

* * *

_She's fading fast._

He sniffed it out hours later, when the small creature lay gasping and abandoned, her torture over, but her trial not. Her wounds were exposed to the rotten air and grimy walls; Smaug knew the illness would set in soon.

Sad, really.

She was nothing more than a toothpick. Not even good to devour.

The_ least_ those orcs could have done was given him one of their own. _That _would have been nice. Still not a decent meal, but better than whatever smallish thing they had decided to drop in his prison-cavern that was still sniffing and slobbering all over the place with her tears and her blood. Ugh. Two-legged creatures had no decency…

…_ching. Clink._

…what was that?

Smaug's eye snapped to the hobbit, witnessing as—miracle of miracles—she rubbed one of her newly-freed wrists with tender, weak urging to return their circulation. Instantly, his eye looked down upon the thick handcuff that had once imprisoned it—open and useless, now, its maw pried apart with no signs of tear or wear upon it.

She had worked it free.

_Ching. Clink._

And now joined it by its…other…?

"How are you doing that?"

The hobbit jumped and screamed in fright, having clearly not expected to not be alone in the cavern. But when her eyes glued on to the large, towering creature haunched over by the opposite wall, her fear didn't leave her. In fact, her shaking intensified. "I—I—w-what…?"

Smaug glared at her, and pointedly looked down at her now-useless chains before gazing back up at her. "Your fetters. You didn't _break _them off. Obviously," he muttered tonelessly.

The hobbit flushed and hesitantly looked down at her work, before gazing back up at the shadowed dragon. Oh gosh…his eye alone was as big as her… "I…um…I-I had a friend w-who was very good at picking locks. He, uh…t-taught me…a thing or two…so I just a-applied it…"

Smaug's tail twitched, curiosity peaked. "…I see…"

Billa nodded back, unable to believe that she was actually _speaking with a dragon_, but forcing herself to stay calm, and while trying to remain conscious and in control of her squirming, fearful thoughts, she managed to slide and grunt herself around to grasp the wall behind her, leaning on it perilously as she slowly, slowly lifted herself to a stand.

Or at least, she tried.

As it was, the world vaulted with a sickening lurch the instant she was vertical, and while clinging to the wall desperately to stay so, she suddenly felt the strong urge to vomit from all the nauseating pain arching up her leg from her shattered ankle. Gasping, feeling feverish, she pressed her heated forehead to the cold wall, hiding her face and letting her senses calm themselves, getting used to being upright from lying and sitting around so long.

(Oh, how much time had gone by? Was she already too late? There was no way to tell down here how much time had passed. By now, were her people dead? Himie, Freya, Nona—and everyone else—_oh, please don't be—_)

She could hear the dragon's low hum behind her, rumbling throughout the cavern. "…what _are _you…?"

Billa gasped back, panting, even as she refocused herself so she could get out of here—which was…well, pretty much her plan so far, seeing as how it had been hours…and now that the king knew of what she'd done—_everyone _knew what she'd done, if anything Bigthan and Teresh had said were to go by—so most likely…no one would be coming for her. They probably weren't even aware of her kidnapping, to be honest—which was fine. Which was…okay. She'd just…do it on her own. It would…be okay. "I…w-well, I'm a hobbit…h-have you never s-seen one before…?"

Smaug snuffed out, a large puff off air that pulled at Billa's hair and tattered clothes. "No. Dull."

Blood-cracked lips parted in a small smile. It hadn't been the first time she'd heard something like that—yet in a situation such as this, while talking to a dragon, she could rather consider herself glad to. That meant her Shire wasn't very likely to be attacked by one—not if they were so 'dull,' as this one put it.

…yet they _were_ still going to be attacked by orcs. She had to—she had to stop _that_, at least. She had to get there…get there before it was too late…but the reality of it all almost made her want to cry.

She had no hope, clinging desperately to the wall as she was, unable to walk and with no way of sneaking out of Mt. Gundabad on her own—and travelling all the way on the other side of Erebor, to the Shire—before the sun rose. She couldn't…she couldn't make it there in time even if she walked. And she couldn't even do _that_—not with her broken foot.

_No…no…_

Feeling the hot tears rise again, Billa swallowed desperately, blinking them back as hard as she could. No, she could—she _could _do this—she _had _to and she _would—_she wasn't about to just let everyone she knew and grew up with die—she just—she just had to _think._

_Think, you, you—you stupid, Took-blooded Baggins! Think!_

What could she use? What was available to her? What…what…

…wait.

"…h-hey…w-what's your name?"

The dragon's eye snapped to her, large and fierce and dark—but almost glowing like an ethereal ember in the darkness. "It doesn't concern you, Halfling."

Oh. "W-well, I…" she swallowed; maybe he had a point. The question did seem kind of strange—and especially in their situation, as they were both prey and predator and all. And perhaps she was an idiot for even _considering _this—because by all means, it was insane. Absolutely mind-bogglingly insane—no one would ever think of this in a million years—but she was a hobbit—and if hobbits were one thing, it was resourceful—so…maybe it would work.

"…I…I had been thinking—"

"—I don't _do_ 'deals.'"

"O-of course not, but—"

"—you have no wealth; it would not concern me—"

"—no, of course not, but…but I…I may have something better." There. _Now _he was listening. "H-have you heard of the Golden Rule?"

Curiosity.

Oh, yes, she had him, now. His large eye had zeroed in upon her the instant 'gold' had passed by her tongue, fixing on her form and scrutinizing her with alarming clarity she hadn't thought a dragon would have. The beast puffed air again, and Billa could smell sulfur this time in his breath as he replied, "…I have…not. Inform me."

Okay. Good. The hobbit nodded shakily. She could do that. "O-okay, well…it…it goes a little something like this, b-because it's more of an idea or a…uh…_code _than anything else: d-do to others as you would have th-them do unto you. I-it's…simple, really…"

Smaug's eyes narrowed at her in a clear disappointment. Evidently, he had been hoping for something physical—an actual object of gold or riches—but there was still something in his eyes that yet lingered, and Billa wanted to cling to that lingering thing and bring it out, just so she might be able to win him over. "A code…" he muttered, "…and a _golden _code, nonetheless—what did you call it again?"

"Th-the Golden Rule," Billa supplied, hoping her heart wasn't beating too fast.

Again, the dragon hummed low and deep in his chest, causing the walls to practically vibrate as they resonated with his thoughts. "What is the purpose of this…?"

"I—I thought it might be an interesting piece of…wealth for you. If you adhere to it, y-you have it. You…you know…?" Billa supplied, nervous and weak but hopeful. "A-and…I know the orcs must not be…t-terribly nice to you—if how they have treated _me_ is a-anything to go by—s-so I thought…if you wanted…we c-could _apply _the Golden Rule on them in return." The dragon's eyes lit aflame by this, and excited, Billa swallowed and added, "B-because I actually…know where they'll be and w-where we can find them and s-surprise them…"

The dragon pulled his lips back in what Billa supposed she could interpret as a grin. In reality—it was a terrifying revelation of his large teeth—and his tail thumped once on the stone ground beneath them.

"Say no more," he grumbled pleased and dangerous, and boy, was Billa glad she wasn't on the receiving end of such zealous revenge. "I, Smaug, will…gladly accept this code of the Golden Rule and apply it, if it should cause their blood to spill. Release me—and I will take us there—and exact my happy vengeance upon them."

"B-but only the orcs!" Billa quickly ascertained. "I—if I release you, you also have to do _me _the Golden Rule by never attacking me or my people or the kingdom of Erebor as long as you live. O-okay?"

Impatiently, Smaug growled, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Such hunger always made him rash—not that he thought about it right then. All he could see was the black of orkish blood, and _yes _did he yearn for that. "Fine—yes—meaningless details—I care not for that—only that my extended capture shall cease by these miserable, foul creatures of darkness and hate. So _hurry_. Work your lock-picks on my chains and hop on quickly—I have a long-overdue lunch to be had."

…yeah, Billa was really glad she wasn't on his bad side. With a shaky grin, she nodded, edged painfully closer—the process almost making her pass out again—before she got to work.

* * *

For as long as Middle-Earth has existed, there has not been a single creature who has ridden the back of one of its fire-breathing dragons.

("…she _will _break all the rules, you know…")

And as soon as the thick, weighty chains snapped free in beautiful arcs—their locks nearly as big as Billa herself—there came a mighty roar of rejoicing freedom that with its intensity, nearly blew the hobbit over by the sheer force of the sound alone.

She had no idea the kind of beast she had just set free.

Yet as she hurriedly, gaspingly climbed onto his back, with tiresome, blinding effort, clinging to his scales in sheer desperation, she realized she didn't care. This beast who had sworn never to attack Erebor was the least of her worries—both at this moment—and ever, if his dragon would hold to his newfound Golden Rule as tightly as he was holding to it now.

("…she is different. And she _will. _Change. Everything.")

She was going to save her people. Save Thorin. Thorin, who…who may or may not believe in her, but who needed to hear her apologies—what she had to say—that it wasn't a lie—any of it.

She had to save everything.

And _that _was what mattered.

"Fly."

Smaug's wings parted.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **I continually find that what I have planned is clearly what no one else will see coming. 8D; I'm sorry. xD I just couldn't resist Smaug and his…amazingness. I'm rather a huge, biased fan of him, and as such, HAD to include him somewhere. I ALSO couldn't help but have him say, "Dull." I just…I couldn't. (Guilty, guilty pleasure.)

All the same…I also know this story has taken quite a dive from the original Esther plotline. 8D; Yeah, I didn't intend for it to turn out like it, so far and so different from my initial plans, but I think…that's okay. I think it's turning out okay, anyway. Besides, if you squint really hard, you can still see the traces of the Esther story interwoven through this. (You might have to squint really, really, really hard. But it's there. I swear.)

Also, for those who don't know, because I've mentioned it briefly in the story before, and I figure most of you DO know, because you're all Tolkien fans: Nori is the one who's good with locks. 8D Thought I'd…mention that. In case people didn't know.

(Turns out, those dwarvish/hobbit culture lessons from week 3 turned out to be pretty handy…)

PS: I had gotten a few voices of concern about Thorin's approval for the genocide—I just want to clarify this now before we go on: such approval does _not exist_. If my writing had not made it clear in the previous chapter: Thorin had no idea Azog was about to make a Challenge that betted the lives of all the hobbits in the Shire. He merely Approved Azog's Challenge, without knowing what it was—and once he heard it, he is dismayed. _He does not want the genocide to happen. _He is bound, however, as king, to not get involved and cannot revoked an Approved Challenge. (Kind of like in the original Esther story, that Xerxes couldn't take back the actual Jew-murdering order that Haman got him to sign on with; they had to come up with the plan that the Jews would be able to fight back, and anyone who wanted to protect the Jews could when the Day came. In our case, however, hobbits do not fight. 8D So Dis and friends have stepped up for them in their defense. Make sense?)

Well. 8D Now that that is settled, I apologize for the long author's note—I hope you enjoyed, have a wonderful day, and prepare yourselves for the adventure to come!


	24. Here I Am

As soon as they emerged from the mountainside and Billa saw that the sky was dark—at the deepest it would be during the night—she desperately urged Smaug to go faster. "Please! We—we need to make it there before the sun rises!" Gosh…had she really been lying in agony that long? For the several hours it took for an entire day to pass?

Hopefully they weren't too late…!

Smaug huffed at her, suddenly dipping in the wind—and the motion made Billa's stomach haltingly and violently churn, and not wishing to see the ground so far beneath them, she buried her face in his scales. It didn't cool her heated, flushed skin, but it did, at least, give her a hiding place.

The dragon, meanwhile, seemed to sense her growing illness, and scoffed at it. "You will not last long, you know. The infection is upon you."

Billa gasped and panted, wishing the nausea would pass_._But of course, it wasn't that easy. "I…I know—but I can't…" …can't what? What was she expecting of herself? Well, she knew, really—but she wasn't about to say it. "…I can't…not yet. There's too much to do—too much to say. I can't…" She swallowed, her voice hoarse and thick—but no, she wouldn't cry. No—_no, _she just had to keep going. She had to see this through. That was it. She just…had to. For her hobbit friends. For Thorin—oh…

_Thorin. Please be okay. Please don't be angry._

She swallowed. "…I've just got to…do it."

Another hum came from the beast beneath her. "For a creature who I have heard favors comfort and warmth above all else…you are putting yourself through an awful lot of agony just to do whatever it is you are planning to."

Billa laughed a little—although immediately regretted it, seeing as how that put such uncomfortable pressure and hitches within different parts of her battered body that clearly didn't want such movement. "I…I guess that doesn't make me a very good hobbit, huh? The…the others would think I'm m-mad, I'm pretty sure…"

The dragon hummed once more, but said nothing.

Billa did notice, however, that he began to fly just a little bit faster.

* * *

Two hours left.

Thorin gazed all around him, at the two camped forces—and then, reluctantly, up at the night sky.

Still no sign of the hobbit.

It only made him ache all the more.

_So she truly did run, then..._

Thorin rubbed his face, at a loss. After all, what…what could you think when you had gotten a judgment of character so wrong? When you had been fooled in to love—so deeply tricked into everything your heart had been hoping for, beating on its own without a matching rhyme of harmony?

What was the worst about it all, too, he noticed, were the hobbits of the Shire themselves. Seeing them gazing at each other in mournful, sorrowed dread; children—young, _young _children who shouldn't know war or death just yet—able to figure what was going to happen from their parents' grim visages. They knew what was coming.

And they weren't smiling.

_"Your words are much too kind. I…I don't know what to say…"_

_"Then you can stop using such formal speech, for one. And be yourself. If you truly are an enigma and can't help that, then so be it. But just_be you_. It won't make my life easier, but if it will make you stop bowing your head as if you were a servant, then good. I'll live."_

_"Oh. Okay. I…I'm sorry. I don't mean to make your life hard, my king—"_

_"—and no more apologies, Halfling. I speak only because I'd rather finally see you happy than with clouds in your eyes every day. It's wrong to see a hobbit…joyless. It's like seeing the sky is red, somehow, rather than its normal blue. It just isn't supposed to be. So do us all a favor and smile. Yes?"_

_But Billa already was, very warmly, very happily, and with trembling, glassy eyes. Thorin tried to look away and dismiss it—but her purely open…whatever-beauty-that-was that lit her from the inside at that moment made her actually quite hard to ignore._

_"…thank you, Thorin."_

…had _that_ been a ruse? Had everything she had said…and done…?

It couldn't be…right?

"…what _is _that…?"

Dori's voice from beside him broke off his train of thought, and distracted, Thorin looked up.

He thought he wouldn't breathe again.

"By Mahal…"

"_A dragon_!" One of the hobbits immediately screamed in terror as the flying worm drew closer. Several more cried out in fright as they all backed up and hurried towards their homes, the shadow of the creature passing over them as they darted towards the safety of their hobbit-holes.

"Back! Back!" Thorin was then ordering the gathered troops, everyone everywhere scattering back so that when the massive beast landed, his claws would not rake any man, dwarf or orc.

After they were at a safe distance away, Thorin shoved himself back as well, back and away and just in time—for a mere second later, out of the black night sky like a heavy stone dropped the red-golden monster, wings large and overwhelming, towering above them all, neck arching over the gathered forces as a mighty roar escaped from its gaping jaw. Immediately, he could see Bard pull up his bow, armed with an arrow, prepared to fire and slay the thing as quickly as possible—

—but it struck him then, how, at that moment, it was kind of odd that the dragon had situated itself _between _the Shire and the two armies, almost as if in a protective measure.

_Strange._

And then he heard it speak.

"You would be a fool to attack me now, Human," the dragon breathed—a he, definitely—as it lowered its head to glare at Bard in fierce reprimand. "As it is, there is only one little code separating me from devouring all of you—so be grateful that I have been bound by honor to exact my revenge _only _upon the orcs among you."

The…the _orcs_?

…and wait, what was this about 'honor'? From a _dragon_?

Bard, at a loss, faltered, and Thorin stepped forward, confused, because never—never before had a dragon ever decided to hold to a code of any sort. What…what had possessed it so do to it now? It clearly didn't have any gold… "What do you mean? And what matter do you have with the orcs?"

The dragon's eyes swept over to the dwarf king and immediately snorted at him, a large puff of air billowing out in a dismissal that smelled strongly of sulfur. "You—_you're_ the ruler of this little kingdom, aren't you?" Another puff, which strangely, sounded like a scoff—especially more the dragon examined the little dwarf before him. "Pitiful. You really have no idea what's been going on within your own borders, do you?"

Apparently not. But Thorin had enough of not knowing things for a long while. He grit his teeth, immediately demanding the answer, "What do you mean?"

But Smaug didn't respond at first, deep eyes scrutinizing the small dwarf before him as he thought. He rolled back through what he had overheard the two idiot (_Now dead, _he thought, pleased) orcs taunt the small creature who was still clinging sickly to his back with, and he could vaguely recall that there had been some…misunderstandings of some sort between them. And truthfully, that fit with what he already knew.

But it truly wasn't his place. He _despised _getting in the middle of land-dweller's businesses. Yet…all the same…if that would make the tiny halfling's tears stop… "…the orcs have been plotting to overthrow you for a long time, Dwarf King—all in order to cause havoc and satisfy their innate bloodthirst. I had originally been an unwilling part of their scheme—but now I am free, thanks to another unwilling participant—who I believe you already know." Giving Thorin a particularly grave look, he then added, "And if you do…then learn this lesson well: you should take better care of your treasures."

…his treasures…?

Curious, Thorin's eyes travelled down the beast's expanse, wondering what he could possibly be talking about. He didn't have any treasures besides the Arkenst—

—no.

No.

Billa.

_Billa._

(She came. She's here.)

…and she came to them on a _dragon_? (Haha…wait, what.)

But that was hardly important, hardly registering as he saw her—saw her for the first time in what felt like ages, and she was so—_hurt; hurt—_he saw her climbing down laboriously and slowly, as if every move pained her—_pained her; hurt; she's hurt; but she _came_—_from the dragon's leg and down to the ground, where she then stood close to the beast, hand resting on its scales for support as she stood on only one leg (why?)—_hurt, _instinct reminded the dwarf. _She's hurt._

_Why hurt?_

And then came the realization; a rapid succession of images and conclusions that slammed into him like a raging bull:

She did not run.

She was taken.

She was taken. She—someone _did this to her_ and then _blamed it on her—and I_—

—and he had done what? Distrusted her? Disclaimed her as his One? _Doubted _her?

(Looking at her now, he was lost as to how—how he could have ever forgotten how she made his chest swell, and his heart feel too big—how could he have…_not_ believed in her…?)

Broken, amazed, confused, startled, angry, guilty, he watched as tentatively, slowly, like it had cost her great effort, the hobbit raised her head so blue could meet its grayer hues again. And then, when they did, her lips twitched in frail strength until she managed to weakly smile at him—and Thorin wanted to die.

"I…I'm here," he heard her call over the silent expanse, with every eye unwaveringly upon her. Vulnerable. Hurt. _Brave._

Could any other hobbit say they had stood in front of an army ready to destroy her home? And nonetheless, _rode a dragon_ to save them? Having suffered as she clearly had just in order to do so, and then—he still couldn't believe this part—_ridden the back_ _of a beast_ such as this…

(No. No, only his had done this. Only his.)

"S-so…will you call b-back the orcs now…?"

…orcs.

The _orcs._

The anger came hot, fast—but Dis beat him to it.

She marched straight up before the connection had even finished taking place in Thorin's mind and to the orc commander—hissing right in his face even as some of the other orcs hurriedly huddled around their leader to protect him— "_You. You're _the one responsible for this, aren't you? You've _done this to her_! She's been innocent all along, and you have both disgraced her and _hurt her—_and you've fabricated this in order to kill her innocent people! You _bastard_!"

But Azog's features were dangerously lax—a face that eerily enough, Thorin understood. With almost careless eyes, the orc glanced at the she-dwarf and muttered, "For what she has done, she deserved it."

_No._

Dis' fist came fast—but Smaug was faster, roaring in a defensive claim of, "_MINE_!" that, quite frankly, made the she-dwarf freeze in place and back up instinctively—especially as soon as the dragon lifted off from his post and launched towards the orcs in a clamor of sound and desperation.

Everything blew into chaos.

The orcs tried to scramble away, crying and screeching as the dragon plundered and clawed at them. But Dis would show them no mercy. Turning to her gathered comrades, she shouted, "Let none of these traitors escape! They will _pay _for what they have collaboratively done!" as she defended herself from the wild swing of an orc trying to run past her and away from the attacking dragon. Deflecting his sword, she then swung her axe around to gut him in a swift arch, pulling away before charging for the next fleeing orc.

Ithur joined the fray right on her heels, swinging and attacking with an incredible display of swordsmanship and skill. Fili and Bofur soon followed—as did the others without any hesitance, especially now that the _real _villain and deceiver had been revealed; they drew their weapons with battle-cries ready and justice in their blood—after all, there is not a people who will not fight back when such a wool that had been pulled over their eyes suddenly fell away to unveil clarity and truth—and with the archers like Kili and Bard behind them, firing well-aimed arrows into the mass that never missed their targets, the tides seemed to turn in their favor quite early on.

Thorin, however…Thorin had only one goal in mind.

Especially when he saw a certain ex-suitor manage to sneak away from the crowd and make his way towards a certain hobbit who had sunk to the ground without the dragon's support to lean on.

Billa. Vulnerable. Weak. Hurt.

Targeted.

_No._

_You will not. _

_Touch. _

_Her._

Thorin felt the anger course through his blood, thick and pumping and all of a sudden he felt his feet lift him into the flight of running, sword on his hip drawn without a second thought as he charges—charges and in one smooth swipe above his fallen one, fends off the oncoming curved onyx of Bolg's blade as it began its downward slide.

Bolg growled at him, lips curling up in a sneer as he quickly backed up, legs absorbing the deflected momentum. He froze for a brief moment, gathering strength and regripping his blade. "So eager to take her back, are we? Now that her innocence is proved?"

"Funny how you think you're making it sound like something to be ashamed of," Thorin retorted lowly, feet carefully taking him to stand between the the hobbit and the orc he had once considered for a possible mate—which, how? How had he ever…? Somehow, it seemed so glaringly obvious in this moment in which the the sun hadn't yet to rise who he should choose—who _was_the better choice—and not just because of this apparent lack of morality. "As it is, sure—I find what I _did _think of her shameful. And I am sorry for it. But I am not ashamed of what I now _do _think of her." The blue-steel eyes lowered, narrowing. "Of course…the same cannot be said of you."

The orc grit his teeth, showing a quick flash of dirty, stained pearls, before he launched forward into another large swing—one that Thorin easily knocked away and subsequently entered battle with.

And they danced.

They danced in a glorious language Thorin knew better than what the hobbit had taught him on that mystifying night what seemed like ages ago. _It was __this_ melody—_this _clash of swords and the rhythm of feet stomping upon the ground, shifting against grass as weight moved from leg to leg—and the singing of reverberating slices into empty air as they ducked and spun—that he knew as well as he did a lover. That he could perform with and for, and to the best of his ability.

This—yes, this was what he knew.

_Clash. Shing. Whip. Stomp. Clash. Slide._

But it was also this...that he did not want.

And when the opportunity came to end it—not too long after that realization—when Bolg had heard his father's cry as soon as the orc met his end in the jaws of Smaug, and had been distracted, however momentarily, by it—Thorin plunged his blade into the orc's abdomen without a single strand of hesitance within his body.

Bolg's eyes widened in surprise.

And all of time stopped, frozen, for a good, long moment as nature registered that what was wrong, has now, suddenly, been jarringly righted.

Then, as he shuddered, time resuming, and he began choking, all of his weight suddenly sagging on the dwarf king's sword, the orc found his lips moving of their own accord, muttering quietly—the barest whisper of a final inquiry—in perhaps a very stupid question…but one his soul couldn't rest without. "…would you have chosen me…?"

Thorin looked down upon the dying orc still clinging to life and pressed his lips into a grim line.

The honest answer found its way coming out of his lips before he could stop it—not that he wanted to.

"No."

_I had not chosen you when she wasn't there; I would not have chosen you should she have been there, either._

Something hardened in Bolg's eyes at that, even as they continued to gloss over with every other drip-drip of his black lifeflow that managed to escape from him—and he nodded—nodded slightly as if Thorin's answer was something he had expected, but yet hadn't wanted at the same time—and something that he had been trying so hard to fight against for so long. But…well, you couldn't very well fight against the sun, he supposed. Couldn't expect it not to shine.

_Even if I had been willing to choke it out with my own two hands._

But the purposed limbs laxed, falling limp at the orc's side.

(Never would they be used again.)

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **Hee hee...listening to Skyrim's Main Theme from the OST while finishing the final edits and posting this makes me feel so epic. I just...yes.

Also, you guys have been too amazing for words. ;A; Just...thank you. Thank you SO SO SO much for all your support and encouragement and shared emotions so far! ;A;

I also wanted to share a song that has been a particular motivator while writing this story; one that I can't help but think also fits Billa throughout this entire thing. It's "Blaze of Glory" by Audio Adrenaline. I suppose I should have mentioned it in the author's notes of the previous chapter, because in the flight of riding a dragon, it's excitement would have fit the moment, but alas. I thought I should still mention that particular gem. :)

Again, thank you very, very much for reading and reviewing so far! I hope you guys have enjoyed this particular battle! Only three chapters left! Let's start to bring it home! :)


	25. Here's How You Try

Bolg was dead. Bolg was dead—that was a matter taken care of—done—no more could be said or thought about it, so Thorin wasted no time, then, in joining his hobbit's side. The smaller, slight one who was battered and flushed and—and—

—far too still.

She was _far _too still—she should have been breathing more deeply. More evenly. There should not be such a ladened appearance to her limbs and body, as if it was too heavy to carry anymore. As if—as if—

"_Billa_—"

"—Thorin…?"

Before he could stop himself, he reached out for her face, turning her at least on to her back so their eyes could meet again—a happy reunion, if not under better circumstances—but at least to assure for himself that she was still alive; that her lack of movement meant she was simply exhausted, simply in pain—but not dead. Not because there was no life left in her body.

Billa shakingly smiled at him again, apologetic eyebrows raised as she muttered out, "T-thorin, I'm sorry—"

"—no." Thorin fought the urge to grip her face tighter as he vehemently denied her that right, shaking his head in negative. "No—you cannot apologize. You can't. Not before I do, because _you_ have _nothing _to be sorry for."

Billa pressed her shaking lips together, breath hitching. Her smile was gone. "…b-but I cheated…"

"Why do you always think that?" Thorin uttered to her, tired and done and he wanted to take her home and for her to be _all right_ instead of pale and weak and startlingly warm, as if her skin was on fire. "I am _done_ doubting you. Now you ought to stop trying to doubt yourself. Do you realize what you have _done_?" Didn't they have this conversation before? They did—they did, didn't they? The very first time they had sat and talked—after…after the first challenge.

_So long ago…when she first took up sword and courage for me._

"You have saved your people," Thorin choked out, exhaling in mystified disbelief—because honestly. How…how did the hobbit even _do _that? How did a little thing like her manage…manage to get away like she did? And with such grievous wounds? Seeing them suddenly made him wish that he had made Bolg's death more drawn out—more painful. It's what he deserved for causing this. "That is far more than any other hobbit has so far done in their lifetime. Far more than many ever will."

Billa's weak smile grew, bright and warmly happy. But her blink was too slow for the king's liking, delicate eyelashes resting upon the edge of his finger for far longer than she should have let them. "You…you have t-too much confidence in me…"

_No. No, I didn't. Not when you needed me most. I should have known; I should have trusted your character and wondered if you had been taken. I should have…I should have questioned…_

But Thorin could only swallow. "…you should have more confidence in _yourself._ Would save me a lot of trouble—_and _make my life easier while you're at it." But he didn't really mean that, did he? At least—not in the sense that life _with _her was difficult—even though it was. But it was a…_good _difficult. The kind of difficult that made him strive ever harder, that made him _want _to always be more and better than he currently was.

Uncomfortable and alive. Dichotomous, but synonymous at the same time.

(It was as easy as breathing.)

Billa chuckled softly, wincing at the sudden pain that motion brought. She stiffened sharply, jagged, short breaths leaving her. "…s-sorry to make your life hard, my king," she muttered with a pained half-smile that still seemed so sincere even half as radiant as her usual ones.

"No," Thorin shook his head, conceding. "No—you haven't made it hard. You…you won't. Not if you stay with me. You cannot…_do not_ let this end you. Do you hear me, Billa?" She didn't answer—and her silence, marred only by her fevered, quiet and shallow pants, made his blood suddenly leap with worry. And for the first time, he began to truly inspect her injuries, eyes scanning over her form. Besides a blotch of blood on her head, the majority seemed to be on her back and sides—some lacerations on her arms and legs, but those very few. "What—what have they done to you—are you poisoned? Are—"

"—it's an infection, Thorin Oakenshield. Not poison. Trust me."

The dwarf king stilled.

Billa's eyes opened halfway, something bleary in their blue depths. "Is…is that…?"

"Go away," Thorin growled, interrupting her query. His head lifted up to glare at the elf king standing a few paces away, protective and fierce.

But Elrond only shook his head, patient. He could see the worry raging behind the steel-grey eyes before him, and understood that emotion far better than most dwarves would think. "I would advise you to _think _before you speak, Thorin. Her wounds are quite bad—made even worse by the settling illness her body is trying to fight. It _will _claim her if we do nothing."

Thorin knew—he knew how bad infections could get. One did not fight wars and not see the pain and death such illness could bring. "Fine—but we do not need your help—"

"—her ankle, too. Have you not noticed that it is shattered?"

…w-what?

No…

A numbing coldness overtook the dwarf king as his eyes travelled downward and to the surprisingly-swelled pale limb the elf had pointed out. Unlike its other, which twitched and moved slightly as Billa gasped in the throes of her condition, this one remained unmoved—almost dead, in appearance.

He knew the implications of such an injury, and it pained his insides as if he had been roughly stabbed.

"She might never dance again, Thorin."

…no…

"Not unless she receives proper care. There _is _a chance I and our healers may save her and her foot—but you must permit us to do so."

He knew…he knew that.

But it still wasn't a very easy decision to make. (Trusting _elves…_?)

"For those of your army who have also been wounded this day in your conquer against the orcs, we also would be willing to heal." At that, Thorin shot his head up, surprised. Elrond took a step closer, nodding in the affirmative to the unanswered question of wonder. "Yes—we realize what this means. But thanks to your sister and your people, you have manage to save an innocent people. People that us elves are…quite fond of. And already, lines between races that have before been so firmly drawn are now being dissolved within your kingdom. These changes bring promise of a better world. And us elves…at least, those of Rivendell and Mirkwood, would like to be part of such promise. So in response to your kingdom's reaching hands, we give our own."

Kneeling on the other side of Billa and staring at the dwarf king's face, Elrond made his last plead, "Let us aid you."

Thorin became sharply aware that the sounds of fighting had long since stopped. A quick glance at the gathered force told him that while some orcs must have successfully fled, a good many were lying dead, having paid for their unanimous crimes. The others, meanwhile—the ones who had been willing to protect—were helping each other to safe places to sit and rest. Smaug was nowhere to be seen. (Gone, probably, now that his meal had been finished, or chasing the other fleeing pieces.)

Yes…there were some wounded, he could see. A few dead.

But it could have been so much worse.

Thorin swallowed reflexively, knowing it could _still _be much worse—especially if they fought their casualties on their own. Diseases killed so much more effectively than actual sword-born injuries, and dwarves were not the type to sit and nurse their wounds with the care they so often needed.

His thumb stroked once on Billa's flushed, warm cheek—and the startling heat waving off of it was all the evidence he needed.

"Yes."

Elrond gave the tiniest of smiles.

Yet as soon as they (however reluctantly on the dwarf king's part) tried to move her into the elf's arms, she immediately groaned and paled sharply. "I—" Stutter, gasp, swallow— "—Thorin, I'm gonna—"

—and the two of them immediately understood.

Depositing her carefully on her side—the side of her good leg—they let her vomit heavily, as she needed, the vertigo making sweat bead themselves on her forehead, under her curls and leaving her face a stained, ugly red as she shook and trembled with sudden chills. Elrond let his hand pass over her forehead, feeling her fever as she gasped and tried to suck in air—but whatever he felt there made him suddenly turn grim.

"She needs to get to a place we can treat her. Now."

Thorin needed no more urging. "Her house—the castle is too far; a half-a-day's journey away. She has a home here—treat her here. They'll let you, I'm sure."

But Elrond gave the king only one lingering, mysterious look, before he reluctantly nodded. "Do you know the way…?"

Oh.

No—no he didn't…but—

"—we do."

Thorin's eyes snapped to the three smaller pairs that gazed back at them both—tentatively and fearfully—but startlingly braver than their other hobbit folk, standing apart and at their land's edge. The youngest of them gazed with worried eyes at Billa's shaking form, twisting her dark, curly hair worriedly with her small fingers. The other two just gazed apprehensively at the elf and dwarf, guarded but willing to aid.

The one in front—with auburn hair only slightly more reddish than Billa's own—spoke up first. "My name is Freya. We are…we are friends of Billa's. If—if you need to use her house for healing—I'm sure she wouldn't mind. For her, and for any other wounded ones that there may be…"

Thorin, surprised at the offer, tossed a look over his shoulder to view how many were in dire need of such help. He counted quite a handful. "But they will not all fit in a hobbit-hole—"

"—well, then you can use _our _houses, too," spoke up the roundest one, kind and pleasantly plump with rosy cheeks. "In fact, I'm sure many hobbits here will open their doors for your wounded; you _have _just saved our lives, after all. We would be more than happy to help after…after that."

Thorin swallowed, touched—something within him ringing that panging guilt-bell of _No, I didn't save you. In fact, I condemned you. I had agreed for your deaths…_But he nodded anyway, swallowing back that nasty bile sharply again as soon as a fierce tightness lodged itself within his aching throat. "I will—I will tell my people, then, and we will bring them over. So…thank you, your—your kindness will not be forgotten."

"Neither will yours, Dwarf King," said the youngest with a small, shy smile. "So thank you, as well."

No. He didn't deserve such thanks. But he nodded anyway, watching with worried eyes as the elf king carried his One away and into the Shire, three pairs of little hobbit hands grasping and willing to lead him where their friend might seek shelter.

…_just __be okay. Please._

* * *

Time passed in the form of nameless shapes of shifting darkness for Billa. Sometimes there were voices accompanying the blurs—sometimes there weren't. Sometimes hands would take her and turn her one way and the other, and sometimes she slipped away into memories and dreams of sunlight and mountain-castles when everything got too hot and hard to bear.

Sometimes someone held her hand, and sometimes something cold brushed against her forehead. Sometimes someone whispered in her ear—so close, and yet so far—their voices a mere muffled vibration against her cartilage. Yet she knew what they had to say was important—she knew she wanted to hear their words and their soothing, thrumming baritone voice. But she just couldn't. Something was in the way, whatever it was.

On those days, she wished her mouth would open and her tongue would loosen so she could tell them to speak up, to speak clearer. _I want to hear you. You're important. I know you are. Speak again…please?_

But one day, the voices got very loud (very scared? Of what? The dragon said he wouldn't hurt you...), and she could almost make out what they were saying in their fear…but everything was so slow, and heavy, and she felt the itchings of that far-away place reach for her conscious in the guise of thread-like shadow fingers…

Then, the hand returned, and something cool, wet and soft pressed against her forehead and cheeks as words—words she could _finally _understand—drifted past her ears like a lover's whisper.

"Stay with me. _Please_. Stay with me, stay with me…I cannot…cannot without you…"

…oh…was she…was she wanted…?

That was…nice…

But she had been trying for so long, though—_trying for what? What have you been striving for?_—every step and every effort put forth to make Something Wonderful and Beautiful happen—_what was it? Can you remember?_—it had meant everything—_and it still does, somehow—_and she had _given_ everything in an equal trade in order to _let it please be._

…sometimes, she was so tired, when she thought about it…so tired of it all…of trying…of continuously sacrificing…of pursuing…

"_No—_Billa—"

…life was hard…_love _was hard…

"—stay with me; you've _got _to stay with me—don't you _dare _come all this way and fight to be at my side only to die before we can even _begin _a life together—_don't you even try, Halfling_—"

…but somehow…denying that Voice was even harder. Especially when it called to her soul like that.

So when the hand took hold of her own again and squeezed in breathless pain, and desperate longing, she forced her fingers to move and shift, squeezing back in a weak grip that made the Voice suddenly sound very much more relieved.

(There; that was…better.)

* * *

When her eyes finally opened to the world once more, Billa's first thought was that everything had been a dream.

She was…home.

Faint confusion marred her features as she stared at what was _clearly _the ceiling of her bedroom back at her home in the Shire, uncomprehending. Had she…had she dreamt it? Everything? The sunlight streaming in from her window made everything seem so surreal and warm—comfortable—just like it had always been—just like she had always remembered it to be—and as she glanced around her bedroom with her eyes, she could see that, well, everything was the way it had been when she left…

…or when she _thought _she did…

_...did I…did I really…dream that entire month up…?_

Tentatively, Billa began to push herself up to sit—but then hissed in surprise at the pain that immediately lanced itself up and around her torso and back the minute she did so, choosing to lie back down instead as she instantly pulled the blankets away. Lifting her nightshirt with shaky, weak hands (she vaguely recognized she was wearing her pajama's—that meant someone had changed her—but who, she wondered?), she let her fingers lightly trace the bandages wrapped around her—clean and spotless, save for the slight sheen of sweat that lingered.

_Not a dream,_ her conscious realized as she took stock of her healing injuries with a disbelieving, soft smile. _Not a dream._

_I'm alive._

Feeling pleasantly warm both inside and out, Billa pulled her nightshirt back down, sighing in contentment as she then laid her arms over her stomach, closed her eyes, and simply let herself soak in the sunshine that peered in through her bedroom window.

"And Smaug said I wouldn't last…" she murmured to herself with a smile, something within her soul inhaling and exhaling deeply the nostalgic comforts of her warm, happy hobbit-hole of Bag End.

Gosh, it had been…a month, hadn't it? An entire _month_ since she had last been here and slept in this bed—or, well, really, more like three weeks, because she had stayed one night here while Dis and her had travelled—but that hardly counted, in the large scheme of things.

A month. An entire _month_ from home.

And now…now she had unexpectedly returned.

_There and back again, huh? _she thought, amused. _Yes, I suppose so…sounds like the wonderful title of a book, though. Oh, perhaps I should consider—_

—But the door to her bedroom unexpectedly decided to creak open at that point. Drawn instinctively to the sound, Billa opened her eyes and turned to see who was coming inside—her caretaker, perhaps? Now that she thought about it, who _was_ the kind soul who had taken it upon themselves to heal her…? She owed them quite a lot; surely taking care of an infected, sickly and wounded hobbit was such a great way to spend their time—

—oh. Why, it was Himie. At least, Himie who was visiting her.

Glad to see a familiar face, Billa couldn't help but tentatively smile, calling out with a slightly hoarse voice from underuse in order to grab her friend's attention, "G-good morning, Himie."

But that had apparently been the _last _thing the young hobbit lass had expected to hear.

Immediately, she faltered, paling, her dark eyes catching sight of the other hobbit lying awake and all right in her bed—and at seeing Miss Baggins' eyes open, she instantly screamed, her bowl full of chilled water, clamoring to the ground.

It was a lot of startling noise, and wincing before cringing—because _gosh _even those basic muscle reflexes pulled on her sides and back—Billa stared in bewilderment as the first thing the barely-of-age hobbit did wasn't to run to her charge's side and ask if she was okay and check her bandages or fill her in on what she had missed or anything—no, not at all. Instead, it was to burst right back out of her bedroom, all the while continuing to scream as she fled away.

Billa, mystified, could only stare at the overturned bowl and now-empty doorway with foggy surprise.

…was it…was it something she said…?

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **There you guys go. :D A more pleasant ending after that long, multi-chaptered climax. And we've made it, guys! We're passed the danger! We've done it! Woo! What great adventurers we are! :D Now for just some reconciliation and well...you know. ;D "First comes love..."

(Not that you guys weren't expecting that. xD)

Next chapter is particularly...emotional. At least, I'm packing it with everything I've got, so be prepared. :)

And also...start thinking about what you'd like to see next! :) After the final chapter on this baby is up, what else would you like to see? A sequel? A series of oneshots, both humorous and angsty, following life after this? Or would you like a separate AU? I've received some good ideas, which I'll make mention of later-but no need to make any specific "vote" now. Just get wheels turning. :D And if there is any idea you may have that you'd like to see, let me know before I do make an official poll!

But until then, enjoy. :) Do enjoy. You guys deserve it. (hug hug) Have a wonderful day!


	26. Here's How We Begin

"_She's awake! She's awake!"_

The words still rang loud and clear in Thorin's ears as he burst into Bag End, carelessly throwing open doors which laid in his way without a thought, without preamble for their state, as he hurried—rushed—put everything he had into reaching the hobbit's side, because it had been too long—it had been _far too long_—

—and then, when he finally saw her—everything came to a halt.

He quickly came to the conclusion that she must have helped herself into a sitting position, because instead of lying down (like she probably _should _have been), she sat upright, with more color in her cheeks than he had seen for a solid five days since the illness had first set in—and more strength in her bones, too, than he had originally felt in that grip she had given his hand during the third day of her suffering. There she sat, propped up against her pillows as her gaze remained on the greenery outside, soft and far-away as something else was crossing her mind.

Then, finally, and almost lazily, as if she had all the time in the world, her blue eyes drifted from the sunlit window and over to him, still standing in the doorway, where—once she fixed on his form, her body stiffened in surprise, before slowly, slowly relaxing into a warm, happy welcome.

"Hello, Thorin."

His heart eased, worry and unease deflating like a fire extinguished. He exhaled, breathing easy again for what felt like the first time in a week.

"Hello."

He dared to take a step closer, fist subconsciously gripping the item in his hand all the harder as he did so. He swallowed, eyes raking over her short form, clothed in white and soft blue. His voice felt surprisingly hoarse. "You look…far better than you did yesterday. How do you feel?"

"Good," Billa responded back with a small smile. "Not…perfect. But good enough."

Good. That was—Thorin nodded, clearing his throat. That was good.

Billa's smile widened. "But better, too…now that you're here."

_No._

_No—don't say that—don't say that because—_

"—oh, but why _are _you here? Shouldn't you be…I—oh—what about the castle? The politics now that the orcs have disbanded under you? Shouldn't you be back at the Lonely Mountain to discuss that? What are you doing all the way out here in the Shire?" Billa's voice turned worried, her smile lost as she gazed at him in plain concern.

And that…almost made him lose his control over the waterworks.

But as it was, Thorin tremulously stayed put, stayed quiet, his throat aching and in pain the longer he waited there, the floorboards beneath his booted feet silent and cool.

His silence worried her, making her features lax even further as true fear began to replace what once was simple concern. "Thorin…? Is…is everything…okay?" Then her eyes suddenly widened, and her fingers gripped the bedsheets tightly as she muttered, "You aren't—wait, you aren't angry, are you—about—about Dis and—"

"—no," he murmured, shaking his head numbly. "No…I'm not…angry."

Silence.

Billa softly swallowed. "…then what is it?"

He had to.

Oh, he had to.

But he couldn't…

"…Th-Thorin…?"

So the dwarf king took a breath, inhaling deeply, and gripped the dirty rag in his hand just that bit harder as he shoved his entire soul aside, pride and kingship meaningless details, idle drivel at this point in time—because here, right now, stepping forward to her bedside, and dropping to one knee—he could bring himself to be no more than a very, very ordinary and incredibly fallible dwarf.

* * *

"He's kneeling! He's actually _kneeling_!"

"Shut up—! He's totally not—"

"—he totally _is_! See for yourself, Fi!"

"Holy—"

"—SH! I can't hear what they're saying!"

A groan, followed by the hushed giggles of several little hobbitlings who had become rather taken to the two dwarf royals, and who lingered right behind the spying pair. They all waited, huddled together, quiet and listening, eager as they were to see this—this moment on which everything seemed to pinnacle.

* * *

Kneeling.

The king was—oh gosh—the king was actually _kneeling _before her—and she didn't—she didn't know what to think—all of a sudden, Billa just wanted to reach out and take him by the shoulders, pulling him up because that was so _strange. _A—a bow was one thing, in the middle of a forest and half-serious, instigated only by wit and tease—but—but _this_…?

She knew what this was.

"You may not know this…and in fact, my instinct very much wishes for you…_not _to know it. But my conscious…disagrees. If I am to sleep a restful night once more, then…I must confess to you…a very, very grievous crime I have done against you."

A-against _her_?

Wait, she wasn't still dreaming, right?

"Thorin—"

"—_let me finish," _he ground out, teeth gritted and bared, but face lowered—and oh, didn't he look like his sister did, all those nights ago? When she had first felt compelled to do the same thing…? "Because you see, the thing is…you didn't show."

…oh…

"You didn't show, and I…failed to believe in you. And I…am sorry."

It seemed to cross his mind that he wasn't making sense—that she might not have even known there was an assembly gathered, and that they had waited—that they all had waited—and when she didn't appear, they began to worry and doubt. She might not have known that he, himself, had condemned her people—that he had been the one to give Azog the permission to offer the Challenge—when the orc had known all along that she wouldn't make it. That he…that he had been ready to be done with her…

So he told her.

In that moment, he told her everything—his doubts, his fears—his failures, and his wrongs. That he had nodded to Azog when he shouldn't have—unknowingly giving the orcs permission to commit genocide on her own people—and that he had proclaimed her a coward, as well—that he had…that he had…that he had thought ill of her, when all along, she had been nothing but kind.

…and the weight on his collarbone as he bore these sins to her: heavy, choking, slowly clogging down his head and chest as if they were made of dark-rimmed lead and steel instead of flesh and blood, sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor.

He…he didn't deserve. He didn't. He didn't.

"…I'm sorry," and oh, his voice was tight and small and not kingly at all—but it was raw. It was honest.

The broken sorrows of guilt when the repentance is utterly true and meant from the barest, ugliest center of a lowly creature…_that_, more so than anything else, is what this was. It caused his throat to rear in pain, stinging and tight, and caused his breaths to sharpen themselves in uneven rhythms.

(It was enough to bring him to his knees. To forget how to breathe.)

And once he was done, for a long time, no one moved, and no one spoke.

The birds outside chirped and flew by, the wind a soft caress to the window glass—but in there, that bedroom, time slowed to a stop and simply ceased to be. The silence remained, lingering as an ever-still pool of thoughts and worries, an unrippled sea of wants and hopes that stayed in the tranquil, undisturbed state of acceptance that what they wanted simply might not be able to be, because the pieces to build them with were too hard and coarse to pick up and put together.

Perhaps it was time to accept such things, time murmured. Perhaps what they had dreamed for now hurt too much, the edges jagged and rimmed with painful, mistakes and errors that both of them were familiar with, that both of them had caused.

So perhaps…they _couldn't_ move on from here.

But then, out of the stillness, with gentle fingers, he felt her reach out for his cheek, brushing against it to communicate something…wonderful—too soft and beautiful to believe—and when he would not lift his face, because no, his hands were too scarred, she then did it for him, pressing up on his jaw gently so that he would finally look at her and meet her eye.

Disbelieving blue met greyer hues—locked, and then stayed in the echoing quiet.

"…it's okay." A barest whisper.

No it's not, he wanted to say. No it's truly, truly not—

—but then the water shifted, and she moved to pull him forward.

And when his face met her collarbone, and he felt her cheek press against his hair, her arms wrapped around him—one of them even clinging to her blanket that she had pulled so that it could pull as much of itself over as it could to lay across his larger, broader form (however, that remained to be only a corner of the blanket, tugged from what remained tucked in on the other side of the bed)—his breath hitched, and he moved to push himself away—because that rag deserved to be there, not her own blanket—

—but her arms were tight, and her voice even more so. "I…I won't lie to you, Thorin. What…what you said…it hurts. It…it does, and I…" Her small body shook with breath—and probably pain, for there was no doubt this position could be comfortable for her in her state— "…I am sorry, because I understand why you…you did not believe in me…and that is my fault."

He wanted to pull away; he wanted to shake his head and told her she was being foolish—stop this—stop this because it wasn't true. _It's not your fault, it's mine, it's mine—_

"—but I…" And her voice smoothed out as she inhaled and exhaled—he could feel the rise and fall of her chest from their close embrace, and she was too dear for words. "…I _know _you are sorry—and I know that you saved my life from Bolg on that battlefield…so I know—I know—that you have done good, and that you also did not intend for evil to befall my friends…" Her voice shook dangerously. "…and I feel like I know your heart…or, at least, part of it…so I can trust it…" It once more dropped to the barest of whispers, a feather-light voice, soft as wind. "…but I am afraid."

And he knew what she meant—knew so well, because he, too, felt much the same way.

Afraid that something like this would happen again. Afraid that these signs—these things that have happened before they could even began a life together—would signal only more distrust and confusion and pain for the future. Afraid that there will always be second-guessings and doubts and fears for as long as they live because they were never able to trust from the very start…

…afraid that the idea of "they" would simply never work.

But there was Something there—Something that remained—a lingering Hope and Promise and Love, ever stubborn, ever persistent as they are, which whispered that maybe…that didn't have to be the case.

Maybe it _would _work.

The only remaining question was: would he dare…?

_Could_ he dare? Could this…be something he was willing to struggle for and bend for—to put his hands into the dirt for, to dig and to build with sweat and tears until their love…worked? Until it could grow and reach the sky, healthy, strong—as immovable as a rooted tree? Could he work for this until life was better, and they were happy and could possibly be, once more, carefree and side-by-side?

The answer came with surprising ease, sliding from his lips as he straightened and pulled back from her arms to grasp the sides of her face with care. She looked up at him with broken, open blue eyes that invited him to see her soul, and his own shuddered in response at such nakedness.

But he was willing.

Oh, was he willing.

"Never again," he finally assured with trembling honesty, for once in his life, his entire being as delicate as glass as he brought their foreheads together, close and breathing the same air—this, the tenderest moment his soul had ever known—vulnerable and weak, so startlingly so that it made him uncomfortable—here, at his rawest, most basest state of his being in which he was nothing but a breathing clump of mass that inhabited a very faultful soul. "Never again—never again—I will not fail you and fail to trust you—not without trying to find you if you cannot be found again—never again will I stand by while harm comes to you or your people—"

"—I won't lie to you," Billa interrupted, knowing what this was—sharply aware, and oh, her heart tightened to painful, tugging degrees, the fragile chords holding it in place straining with the force and her eyes became dangerously close to tears as she gasped back, "Please, I won't ever lie—I want to be honest with you—always—never again will I hide something from you—you are too valuable—"

Valuable? He? No—_she _was the one who was valuable; who's worth was beyond measure to him, and he couldn't—

"—I would have you know my heart—"

"—And I would! With the utmost care, I'd know it—if only you would know mine, as well; if you would know it and trust it—"

"—I would." Thorin's limps trembled as a single tear worked its way free, and he closed his eyes fiercely, a tidal wave of emotions flooding over him that made him both so uncomfortable and alive—fiercely so like never before, as if he was standing on top of the peak of Lonely Mountain and was inhaling all of the world's sky into his lungs. "Billa, I…" Oh—this was it. This was it. He had to—he— "—will you…will you please….I know it may not—not be a spotless offering—and it is not under the best circumstances—I have no jewels to crown you with in declaration of this—nothing to make what I have done against you better than the rag in my hands—but if you would have me, anyway—a…a humble and imperfect dwarf on his knees for you—I—"

And she knew.

The words had not even come, but Billa Baggins had understood, her eyes wet and tear tracks falling down and oh, it was the most beautiful thing Thorin had yet known. "—y-yes…_yes_ until the end of my days—I would be yours for every day of every year until the sun fails to shine—if only so I can try and try, and _continue_ trying to learn and know you until my transport, fickle as it is, fails to be—Thorin—I—"

And the space closed between them.

Their lips met, fireworks shooting off, sparking in between nerves and senses all while in the middle of tears, in the middle of a small bedroom of a very ordinary hobbit, who had done very extraordinary things.

And in the middle of every worry, every fear and every doubt—a bridge between what they knew, and what they didn't, but what they believed in, and what they would strive for, their lips crashed together in a symphony of blessed promises and lifelong journeys. It was warm, it was deep, it was shaky, yet it was sure—it tilted Billa's head back and up, and made Thorin lean in even lower, pressing firmer and prying their lips to an open embrace.

_I love you, I love you, and I am afraid, but I will be brave for you, and __**I will make this work for you**__._

It was the most perfect thing either of them had ever known.

* * *

"They're…they're _kissing_!"

Several little hobbit children gasped in astonishment; Kili only scrambled for purchase to buy back the corner of the window they were peeking through. "What? _What_? Are you serious?"

"Don't look! This is a private moment!"

"But _you're _looking!"

"I'm older; I can totally handle such things."

"Hardly; you're only older by, like, five years."

"Still. You might get traumatized."

"...that's ridiculous."

"No it's not."

"Yes it—"

While the giggling of the hobbit faunts around the squabbling two increased, two other hands reached out, grabbing each of the boy's shoulders to yank them back and away from the window, much to their startled and moderately annoyed surprise. "Bofur—!" they whined.

The hatted dwarf merely grinned, wrapping his arms around the two's shoulders as he forcefully continued to lead them away. The hobbit faunts followed them, on their heels and listening to every word as the older dwarf chided, "Now, now—let them have their peace. They need it, what with everything both of them have just gone through—"

"—but they _kissed_!" one of the hobbit lasses cried out, like it was the most incredible news.

"Mr. Bofur, Miss Baggins kissed a _dwarf!_"

"The king, too! He was the king! She kissed the_ king_!"

"He has a beard, too! Does that make it tickle?"

"Ew! Gross…"

"Does this mean they're gonna get married, now?"

Kili and Fili couldn't help but grin in excitement, eyes expectantly on Bofur as the dwarf scrambled to a stop, trying to come up with a response to that. "W-well…it…I…"

"Please tell us yes!"

"Oh, that'd be so cool! We'd know the _queen_!"

"And she'd be so pretty with a crown…!"

Bofur glared at the two on either side of him, who very obviously had been the ones to get the little children in such an excited tizzy over the possible relationship between their neighbor and the king of Erebor. But seeing as how they were going to give him no help with this answer, he finally resorted to sighing, pressing fingertips to his forehead as he responded, "…th-they _might_...but it—it might be some time though," he hurried added to their growing gasps of wonder, "because there's a lot they have to sort out…you know…"

Immediately, there came a round of disappointed, dispirited "aw's" from the young hobbit-folk, as they peered upward at the kind dwarf people.

It made Fili chuckle and grin, even as he squatted down to the little faunts' level, their eager eyes and small bodies crowding closer just to hear what the tall dwarf would say. "_But,_" he told them as if departing to them a great secret; they quickly hushed each other to crane their ears and hear better, "if you ask me…I'd say there's no doubt that they love each other very, very much."

"Yeah—so it's _bound _to happen eventually," Kili nodded in agreement, haunching down beside his brother in the middle of the small huddle. "One day, whenever that may be."

There came several squeals of excitement at that—mainly from the girls before them—as well as a few grimaces from the hobbit boys, who looked at each other and groaned at such gross ideas as kissing and love and marriage. But the sight only made the dwarven brothers grin at each other.

Because this—this infectious happiness, so easy to obtain from hobbits more than any other folk—this is what they had to look forward to.

While in the process of losing such physically strong and intimidating allies such as the orcs, as Dain was dealing with politically back at the Lonely Mountain, they now had gained an even fiercer pact with the joyful and kind, homey hobbit-folk—and not only them, but a tentative—very, very tentative alliance—had been formed with the elves.

And it was a reward, everyone was now able to see from a week spent within the hobbit-kind's lands, and being healed by the elves' incredible herbal and surgical skill, that was far more valuable than war-trained armies and well-forged weapons—it was comfort, food, healing, and peace all rolled into one combined package that they now could share, appreciate, and delight in rather than being isolated and untouched like the two had been before.

The people would scarcely grow hungry again. They would never be attacked by a dragon again. Sicknesses would not be so fierce an unseen enemy again. The orcs were far too few to prove a formidable force for a long time—and it was all…an overall_ pleasant_ future, they decided—the one that loomed overhead of them, as bright as the sun in the sky upon their brows.

As pleasant a future as the unknown that they had yet to face could get.

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **And so we are almost ready to conclude our story, dear ones. D: I'm rather...sad to see this finish itself. But all the same, I hope you've enjoyed what has transpired, and that this reunion/proposal between Thorin and Billa has been to your expectations. (hug hug hug) It has been a rough journey, but they have survived, and can still live and love to tell the tale.

There isn't, really, much to say here. xD Other than, of course, for you all a HUGE thank you. You wonderful, amazing people, you. As well as a bid for each of you to have a good day.

So then, with all that said, I suppose I will see you all in the epilogue! :)

PS: I'm leaning towards a sequel, if that's all right with you all. How does that sound? Although don't expect for this series/AU to be the only Hobbit story I ever publish. Ideas have been brewing, and I do believe I have two more (separate) Hobbit-oneshots which have been brewing to put out before the sequel is published. But we will get there, my friends! :D I do believe that the journey will continue, if only for one story more. So stay with me? Until then?

One adventure more? :)


	27. Here's Where I Say I Do

_You will go out in joy  
__and be led forth in peace;_

* * *

Eight months.

Billa rolled the seeds around in her hands as she recounted the days that had gone by. They seemed like so many, all leading to this moment—and yet, they had gone by so fast.

Eight months…and now she was finally here.

Now she was ready. He was ready.

And the Day had come.

"You'll look so lovely for the king, my dear," Freya said, curling short auburn locks and pinning in small white alyssums (_worth beyond beauty_), and white arbutuses (_thee only do I love_), and the beauty of white jasmines (_I attach myself to you_) into her hair—all beautiful flowers of words, emblems of meanings that truly were at the heart of, what Billa thought, her and Thorin's relationship was.

And her bouquet, lying on the table nearby, was brightly, elaborately filled with even more: Azaleas (_first love, fragile passion, temperance), _white chrysanthemums (_truthful, loyal love_), cornflowers (_delicacy_), daffodils (_regard, rebirth, new beginnings, unrequited love, you're the only one, chivalry_), lily of the valley (_return of happiness, purity of heart, sweetness, humility, you've made my life complete), _gladiolus (_strength of character, remembrance, infatuation, splendid beauty, I'm really sincere, admiration, you pierce my heart like a sword_), sunflowers (_always following the sun_), red tulips (_believe me_), blue violets (_watchfulness, faithfulness, I'll always be true), _and, of course,scarlet zinnias _(constancy_).

In truth, they were almost ready—her hobbit friends' work almost done. And it touched her, really; it meant so much to her that these three who had first dressed her for the king all those weeks ago had once again come together to help dress her now for her wedding.

They were there with her at the beginning, and they were here with her at the end.

It was…beautiful. So sweetly so.

"You guys—" she started to say, in order to thank them, but Nona spoke up, interrupting before she could utter a word, "—hey, by the way, Billa, how's the ankle? Think you'll be able to dance for him?"

Oh—_that. _Well, that was quite important. Billa couldn't help but grin, knowing she'd give the three hobbits her thanks later, so in response to the question, she wasted no time lifting up the hem of her dress and robes, pulling up her leg to roll around her ankle for them all to see.

They gasped and cheered in response—to which the hobbit merely and meekly blushed, straightening out the skirts of the traditional marriage-gown that female hobbits wore. It would be a blended wedding, they had all decided; Thorin would be dressed in his ceremonial furs and the beaded, dark velvet robes of his father, and she would wear her white and flowered gown, gradient into different hues that matched the variety she would hold in her bouquet.

And—as was the tradition of hobbits, as well—after the ceremony and coronation, she would dance for her king (not that Thorin knew this part was happening, of course; Billa had worked hard to keep it hush-hush and surprise him, since the poor dwarf had hated her being bedridden for so long thanks to her broken ankle).

But it would be worth it. It would all—very much—be worth it, because at the end, once the partying and the dwarven traditions were over and the feast was eaten, together they would walk by moonlight thanks to the open ceiling now above the palace gardens—an architectural edit that marked the first time in dwarven history where sunlight was allowed to finally reach an area within Erebor's mountain-castle—where finally, Billa's myrtle seeds could be planted—the absolute and perfect symbol of their life together. It would be everything, and it would mean everything, because like so many other things in their relationship, they would work _together _to make it grow—and to give the tree meaning.

It was…everything she had been hoping for—and more—and the fact that it still all came out from such a trying time made Billa close her eyes and smile in happy, fragile joy.

"Oi—Halfling, don't fall asleep, yet. I've got one more thing for you."

Ah. Yes.

And then there was Dis.

Smiling brightly and fondly, amusedly, Billa straightened as she opened her eyes to see her future sister-in-law in the mirror, holding a handful of small, pinkish somethings in her hand that, from her position sitting down, the hobbit couldn't quite make out.

"What is it?" she asked curiously, head tilting—but immediately, Freya and Dis both straightened her head in correction, the she-dwarf scolding, "Shush, now—and don't move—I'm going to put them in your hair, because I think you need these—more so than any other…numerous flowers you've got in here."

Billa merely blinked, keeping still as instructed. "Oh…what are they?"

Dis grinned, and once her work was complete, she stepped back. "Surprised you don't know, Halfling. They're myrtle tree flowers. Took me forever to find some—apparently, they're not so common here in the new Dale marketplace."

The hobbit's eyes widened in shock, and she fought the hard urge that arose to reach up and touch the small pink buds with the greatest reference. _My tree flower—mine—she got some for me. _"Dis…"

The she-dwarf merely shrugged, her grin softening as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Thought you should have some. After all, you may think that the tree you're planting has this sort of significance, but…in reality, _you're _our little myrtle tree, Billa. I've heard they're commonly understood as sign of love—and when I heard that, well…" she chuckled a little, but terribly fondly, and it made the hobbit's chest warm all the more. "…I couldn't help but think, 'You know…I know someone who fits that very word better than any other stupid flower I know.'"

And then, with the gentlest of hands, Dis then took hold of the hobbit's chin, bringing her face around so she could place a small kiss at the top of her forehead. "Love has come to Erebor in the form of a very small hobbit," she murmured quietly as she then pulled away, a soft smile on her lips. "And I consider myself very…_very _fortunate to be able to call her my sister."

Billa's lips began trembling, eyes wide and shocked and touched and— "D-Dis…"

But the she-dwarf only laughed. "Now, now! Don't you cry—you'll ruin all the hard work we've put onto your face—and you don't want to do _that. _You've got a wedding to attend! You've got the rest of your life to cry away—so for now, be happy—_smile, _like you were meant to. The tears can wait this time."

Tremulously, disbelievingly, so unbearably happy that she couldn't believe this was real, Billa did.

…and then, of course, Dis said it. Leaning close to her ear so that her other (still respectable, she supposed, because by now, Billa had accepted she was going to be _far_ from respectable after everything that had happened) hobbit companions wouldn't hear the words, she whispered confidingly, "Oh, and by the way…to answer your question from that other day: I actually _do _think it'll fit. But you'll find out tonight…won't you?"

And the hobbit couldn't be blamed for busting out laughing so hard, her face turning a deep shade which made all of the red flowers she had in her bouquet look pink, she might have split the bodice on her dress.

* * *

_the mountains and hills  
will burst into song before you,  
and all the trees of the field  
will clap their hands._

* * *

This was it.

Oh gosh…this was it.

Billa stood on the threshold of her life, right outside of the giant throne room, flowers in hand, unable to calm her breath and believe…that this was even happening. It was too unreal. Too surreal. Too…much of everything wonderful and exciting and terrifying.

_Once I walk through those doors…I will never be the same. Erebor will never be the same. I'll be a married hobbit. I'll be _queen.

_Oh gosh._

"This has been quite the adventure, hasn't it, my dear Miss Baggins? And I must say, I'm rather glad you took my advice."

Oh, thank everything wonderful and holy—Gandalf.

Relieved beyond measure, Billa turned around and spotted her dear friend approaching her, just tucking his milkweed-pipe into his robes. He had changed, she noticed, for the event—his robes were far more formal, now, with special trimmings and silver-lined edges that looked rather handsome on his tall and slender figure.

"You act like you knew all along that was going to happen," she chided with the twitchings of a smirk on her face. "_I _didn't planfor it to get that massive, mind you. In fact…" She swallowed harshly, remembering how it all began. "…in fact, I hadn't wanted to be in the competition in the first place."

"Yet here you are," Gandalf murmured, warm and low, fond as he reached her side in front of the closed door. "Winner, champion, hero, and almost queen."

A smile flickered onto Billa's face, soft and delicate as a butterfly as she meekly bowed her head at the praise, cheeks flushing softly. "I-ironic, really, isn't it?" she managed to stutter out in the middle of her bashfulness.

Gandalf merely smiled gently, curiously. "…did you ever think it was all for a reason?"

Billa blinked, head snapping up to look at him in curious surprise. "What was?"

"The entire thing," the wizard in grey supplied thoughtfully, humming as he tapped his fingers on his chest. "Do you ever wonder if somehow, somewhere, the events that have occurred happened for a reason? As if it were…Designed?"

The hobbit frowned slightly, pursing her lips as she considered that. "I…I don't know…"

"It certainly is a curious thought," Gandalf continued pleasantly, and Billa suddenly realized that he was distracting her, keeping her calm—and she became immensely grateful for it. "Because think about it: if you had not gotten so close to the king, and had not been where you were, _who _you are, and done _what _you did…the orcs might have very well massacred not only your people, but also Thorin and his army. Erebor might have fallen that day due to their longtime plans, had it been any other person, in such a time as that."

The smile stretched across her face again, and she diverted her eyes away. "You…you give me too much credit. I…I only did what I could—and what I had to. It was…truly fortunate Smaug was there in Mount Gundabad as well. Else, everything would not have happened…"

Gandalf grinned back, a merry and knowing twinkle in his eye. "Fortunate," he responded, "or Divine?"

But the hobbit couldn't answer that, and instead remained quiet as they soaked in the mid-morning air.

Finally, the wizard in grey spoke up again, quietly and thoughtfully, "There _is, _of course, one thing that I don't understand…"

"Oh?" Billa blinked at him, turning to her friend. "What's that?"

"The dragon—Smaug, you said his name was—how on _earth _did you get him to agree with you?" He asked—and at his clueless expression, the hobbit couldn't help but suddenly burst into laughter. "No—no, don't laugh—see, now there's a whole_ league_ of those fire-breathing worms around Middle-Earth, holding to some sort of 'code' about equal and fair treatment—that I'm sure is the same thing he spoke of that day on the battlefield—"

"—it was…" But Billa could hardly talk, her sides stitching with disbelieving laughter. She raised a hand from her bouquet and rested it against the side of her bodice, as if it would ease the aches. Gosh, she was going to rip this thing if she laughed anymore. "It wasn't anything too grand—I just…I just told him about the Golden Rule—that's all. And he…well, apparently, he took a grander liking to it than I thought."

And at the revelation, Gandalf's face slowly stretched into fond, sparkling amusement. "Oh-ho—so _that's _what it was—oh, you clever hobbit. Very clever, indeed. Your mother would be quite proud. Teaching a dragon…and then _riding _it, even—of all things! Yes, your mother would be proud, indeed."

And at the mention of Belladonna Took, Billa couldn't help but warm to a softened and contented silence. "…I hope so," she then murmured quietly, happily. "Oh, Gandalf, I hope so…"

The wizard in grey continued to smile at her in gentle fondness. "So in the end, it appears to me, then…that it seems as if even the wise and old Balin was wrong—and at the very beginning of this entire thing, too."

"What?" Billa blinked at him, surprised and shocked. "Why do you say that?"

"Because clearly, all this kingdom really _did _need…was just a little hobbit."

The praise made her flush strongly again, and opening her mouth to respond, Billa found herself cut off as strings and drums and clarinets and harps burst forth into harmonious sound on the other side of the door, snapping her attention to it in shocked awe.

She quickly swallowed, closing her mouth again to rejuvenate it, before she stuttered out, "W-well…I…I suppose that is our cue."

Gandalf smiled merrily at her. "Indeed, I suppose it is."

But then—unexpectedly—the hobbit's smile widened, stretching with happy, nostalgic delight as she gazed at her friend who was standing beside her in fond memory. After all, everything had begun very much like this—hadn't it? Just with them two, and a road in front that lead to the great unknown—to a promising adventure that would be used to make even more happy memories and cherished times that would make her both so uncomfortable and so alive.

And now, what remained before them, they knew, wouldn't be perfect.

But it would be good.

And that was all that mattered.

"Will you…will you accompany me to the altar, Gandalf? I…well, I don't want to be…_alone."_

And the old wizard nodded, his smile brightening as if he had been waiting for her to request his company for a very long time.

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Baggins."

* * *

_Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,  
and instead of briers the __**myrtle **__will grow…_

(Isaiah 55:12-13a)

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

**Crystal's Notes: **And so it ends, my friends. With that bid, I leave you also with one last song to perhaps stir the creative and nostalgic juices, aptly titled: "Magic of Love" by Two Steps From Hell, which I believe to be a particular gem, rather uplifting, and one that I cannot beat as a perfect ending to this adventure.

Before I give my final thanks and farewells, I thought I ought to explain how I came to the title of this story. Of course, it starts with Esther, of who this story is now, technically, _inspired _by, instead of _based _off of. As most of you know, she was, indeed, Hebrew. Her Hebrew name, then, was "Hadassah" which meant "Myrtle Tree," instead of the Persian one she had been given as "Esther." So of course, curious, I look up as much myrtle tree information as I could find…and I happened to find the verse that I included above, which I thought generally fit and embodied some pieces and themes of this story very well.

Of course, you don't have to be Christian, I hope, to enjoy what has transpired here. 8D This is a tale for _everyone_. I, myself, as a Christian, just thought that verse was significant, and highly poignant when in conjunction with this story—so I couldn't help but include it as I would a piece of poetry in any other fanfic.

And for those who might want the rest of verse 13, and who wouldn't mind the final lines, and who also, wouldn't mind me giving thanks for this story to the One who has made everything possible and who is the Great Storyteller, writing our own great adventures day-by-day, here it remains:

_This will be for the Lord's renown,  
for an everlasting sign,  
that will endure forever._

With that, then, my friends, I conclude this story. :) Each and every one of you have been incredible and such a joy to get to know throughout this adventure—so first off, before anyone else is thanked, I want to thank _you _so incredibly much for sticking with it, for reading, for reviewing, and for enjoying what has turned out to be my longest and most successful work yet.

I also want to thank Elsa—my lovely, lovely Elsa—who has beta-read everything since the first, uncertain words were penned way back at the end of February. Ironically, I still remember bringing up this story idea to her way back then, starting off by saying, "Okay, so, um, I'm not even sure if I'm going to publish this thing, but I couldn't help but start writing it. The idea won't leave me alone. Would you mind reading?" And she was like, "Oh! Sure"—as amazingly willing as always to read what crazy ideas come to my mind (patient, amazing, amazing young woman).

I could tell both of us had our reserves about it at the beginning because it was just so…out there. xD Fem!Bilbo. Esther. AU-Middle-Earth. Orcs allied with dwarves. It was just all so…strange, and we weren't sure if anyone else would take to it.

But I took a chance and put it up, and well, I would say…to my surprise—that it has erupted into something I had never even imagined. I owe you guys _everything _for that_._

I have decided to indeed start a sequel—it is now underway—but that won't be published for at least a week, so I can give myself a tiny little vacation-break of sorts after this effort. (And to mourn the conclusion of this adventure, because let's face it—I'm rather sad this is over.)

But the journey will continue. :) This will not be the end.

And until it comes time to embark upon that quest, my dearest, dearest and most courageous readers, rest easy. You deserve it.

May the sun ever shine upon your brow. ;)


End file.
